It took about 12 trips in all to carry in all the bags and boxes that we had, and that, of course, was only a small percentage of what we owned. Every time I grabbed the door's handle I would flinch and have to slow my breathing. I felt a bit panic-stricken, but I had went along with this, so I could only blame myself if I woke up one day, dead as a door nail.

By that last trip, the house was already absorbing the floral scent of potpourri that Sara always had to have around. "I know I sound like I'm complaining," I thought to myself, "but when you have a relationship as tight as ours, sometimes you just have to find something to complain about."

The stairs squeaked, the floors sort of 'rattled' as you stepped across them, and I could listen to the sound of the ocean because of the wind that blew through the cracks. If I were a giant, I could pick up this house and listen as if it were a Sea Shell.

"Are you coming, dear?" Sara asked me. "I'm making dinner."

I heard my stomach growl and didn't even have to answer. We both looked at my belly and just chuckled. "Well, that's decided then," I said. "What are we having?"

She smiled coyly and told me....