“I know it’s around here somewhere,” Donna said. “My grandparents once owned this land.”
Bill, Donna’s husband, was hot, sweaty, and losing his patience. “We’ve been walking through these woods for hours, Donna, and I’m getting eaten alive by mosquitoes.
“Bill, I know we’re close. Let’s keep looking for another half hour. If we can’t find it by then, we’ll head back to the car.”
“Fine,” Bill begrudgingly said. Then he stopped and pointed to a small structure between the trees. “Is that it?”
Donna ran to the structure. “Yes, Bill, this is the dollhouse grandfather built for my mother.”
Written for the Friday Fictioneers prompt from Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Photo credit: Alicia Jamtaas.