When Kevin moved to Massachusetts with his daughter, Lucy, he thought the biggest challenge would be adjusting to the slower pace of life compared to New York City.
He had taken a job at a small architectural firm in a town called Ashford, a picturesque place where clapboard houses leaned slightly with age, and church bells still rang on Sunday mornings.
Lucy was 7, bright, curious, and endlessly talkative. She adjusted quickly, more quickly than he expected. Their new house was a modest two-story home with peeling white paint and creaky floors, but to her, it was a palace compared to their cramped city apartment.
On their first night, she ran from room to room, announcing which corner would be for her books, which wall needed fairy lights, and how the attic was “definitely haunted but in a fun way.”
