Years later, Carrie would drive past that old house with her own little girl asleep in the back seat. The willow tree was still there. The playhouse was gone—torn down by a new owner who wanted a garden.
That was where the magic began.
Carrie didn’t answer. She slipped off her chair, walked across the grass, and climbed into the playhouse. She sat on the velvet cushion, hugged her knees, and did not cry. Not yet. carries playhouse