Mother rushes through the white picket fence and gaps. She had only ever worked in homes like these - never owned one herself. I remember how she'd sit in her recliner, flipping through newspapers filled with listings for the best-selling homes in Fort Worth.

  Tears threaten to spill from my eyes at the mere image of her surprise. I follow her silently up the porch steps lined with white pillars, through the red front door, and into the foyer. In our eyes, it's the most beautiful home we've ever stepped into together. And now, it was ours.

  She turns to me, and I smile. I slip a folded document from the inside of my suit jacket and hand it to her, the deed. A deed she never imagined would bear her name.

  "Oh my... Adam!" She cries, rushing into my arms. Her voice trembles as she buries her face in my chest. "Praise the Lord. Praise the Lord for that beautiful mind of yours." She cradles my face in her hands, kisses my forehead, then pulls me into another tight hug.

  I chuckle quietly, overcome with joy. All her praise is from the Lord, and that makes the moment all the sweeter.

  She finally lets go and drifts into the kitchen, running her hands over the pristine white cabinets. "This," she declares, "will be called the soup kitchen."

  "What do you mean?" I ask.

  "We will feed the homeless, Adam."

  My stomach twists. The idea is noble, kind, but risk lingers in the back of my mind. What if it brings danger? I wonder. Could I undo what's been done if things go wrong?

  I walk up to her, speaking gently. "I see your heart, Mother, but you must be aware of the risk it could bring us."

  She turns and lifts her brows. "If we're blessed with something this grand, should we hoard it? Or should we use it to bring kindness to others?"

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  I search her eyes, then, search my heart. A quiet sigh escapes me as I turn to walk away. "Only for lunch," I say softly. "If it goes well, we let the Spirit of God lead us."

  The movers fill our home with things I find mostly useless. Who needs two loveseats and a three-cushioned couch? One would be more than enough for me. And did my mother really need four vases with those puffy leaves? I tilt my head at them. What even are those?

  But then again, as I sit on our white porch swing, one leg crossed over the other, a thought drifts through me, This is mother's dream come true. Lord, our treasures should be stored in heaven, not on earth... but she deserves this. And since Father passed, I am the man of the house. Shall I let this go on?

  I rise and head inside. My mother's bright smile fills the room - and my chest rises with joy. She's directing the movers with the grace of someone finally stepping into the life she longed for. I watch her, taking in the way her excitement animates every gesture. This is all new to her, and she's savoring it. I smile, deeply, lovingly. Yes, I decide. She can have these things.

  I roll my shoulder off the doorway that connects the living room to the hallway and slide my hands into my pockets. Walking slowly down the corridor, I stop at a door, then, I open it. It creaks slightly, revealing a set of stairs descending into the basement. I pull the string to flick on the single light and make my way down.

  At the bottom, I pause. Dust flows in the golden rays that slice through the small basement window. I inhale deeply. This - this quiet, untouched place - I think back to our old, torn-up house, This is where Time will be.

  "Adam!" Mother calls from the top of the stairs. "Your dilly-dally thing is next!"

  I raise my brows and quickly ascend. My pace quickens as I move down the hallways. One nick, one drop - it could ruin everything.

  I rush to the front door just as the movers reach for it.

  My heart skips. "Um, please," I say, raising my voice and my hand. "I'll carry this one."

  One of the movers, lazily chewing gum, gives me a look. "You sure, pal?"

  I nod, nervously. "Certainly."

  He shrugs and steps aside. But as he backs up, Time tilts. My breath pauses. I dart forward, cradling it in my arms. With careful steps, I carry it through the house and down into the basement, each movement with cautioned care.

  Once on the cold concrete floor, I set Time down and gently remove the sheet covering it. I examine every inch, eyes sharp for any flaw. I breathe out, deeply. Nothing.

  I take off my hat and begin folding it in my lap. Sitting beside Time, I close my eyes for a moment, thinking to myself, These steps... they're more than what I'm used to. However, this change - it is good.