The house by the sea was old and the deep blue paint was fading and tearing away. In every window the yellow shutters were gently drawn open by the wind, and the flower boxes bursted with bright red flowers. Delicate sheer curtains fluttered in the breeze. It seemed empty, yet a fragile sign of life glimmered in the home’s lonely eyes. In the evenings, a soft light shone in the bottom windows, and in the darkness at night they would flicker off. Following the pattern, a light would appear soon after on the upper floor, one in the left window and another on the right, and then they went off for the rest of the night. 

     It was late afternoon now, the house seemed peaceful–still and alone. Isabella sat on soft sand, her gaze fixed on the dark windows. Sometimes a figure emerged and looked onto the sea, or watered the vivid flowers. Isabella longed to move closer to the mysterious house. She no longer felt like playing with the shells scattered on the beach. The girl took one last look at the mystifying, glimmering ocean and turned towards the warm aroma coming from the kitchen of her own home. Her mom was cooking dinner. Excited and hungry, eight year old Isabella ran to eat. 

     “You’ve been looking at Mrs. Alma’s house again?”  her mom inquired, smiling. 

     Isabella nodded watching her mother. She didn’t realize her mom saw her. 

     “You know, Mrs. Alma is really nice. You should go and say hi to her sometime.” 

     Isabella knew that her mom would sometimes call the lady to ask her how she was doing. Her mom would even politely invite Mrs. Alma over, but not once did the lady ever seem to be interested. 

     “But she never wants to come visit us,” Isabella responded frowning.  

     She regarded her mom’s tender expression, “I’m sure she would want to, but she’s older now and it’s hard for her to go out of the house.” 

     Through the dark windows of the blue house, Isabella tried to imagine Mrs. Alma sitting alone all day and looking out at the sea. 

     “I don’t think she wants to be by herself though. Why doesn’t anyone visit her? ” Isabella questioned. 

     Her mother handed her spaghetti with bright red tomato sauce and a sprinkle of basil leaves before sitting down with her at the table. The rays of the setting sun burst through the open windows that faced the sea. Isabella felt the warm sun melt on her face and gazed at how it illuminated her mom. She could hear the ocean waves falling forward and drawing back. 

     “Mrs. Alma wasn’t alone when I was your age,” her mom responded, reading Isabella’s curious face. 

     “She used to be like me back then,” her eyes twinkled as she remembered her childhood. 

     “She had two children, and their father also lived with them. Her house was so beautiful and new then,” and in a flash Isabella’s mom was in her memory, watching the scene play out in her mind.

     “I remember how bright that blue paint was, richer than the sky, and she always had red flowers in her windows too.” She watched her daughter’s fascinated take in her words.

     “I used to play with her son and daughter on the beach, and Mrs. Alma would come out of the house and wave for us to come eat the dinner she cooked or the cookies she baked. Her food would always be so delicious.” Isabella’s mom smiled at the memory. 

     “So why is she all alone now?” 

     Her mom’s face turned grim and Isabella became frightened. 

     “It’s a very sad story,” her mother’s eyes looked out to the glimmering ocean, “her daughter passed away when she was a child. Then Mr. Alma died years later.”

     What about her son?” 

     “When he got older he left Mrs. Alma to live somewhere else. I don’t think he came back to visit her.” 

     “Oh that’s really sad,” Isabella sighed, “Everyone left her.”

     A weak smile lifted her mom’s face, “If you see her, say hello.” 

     Days later on the beach, Isabella noticed Mrs. Alma looking at the sea and waved to her. The old woman saw her and stared. Suddenly she turned away and went back into the darkness. 

     Disappointed, Isabella didn’t understand why Mrs. Alma went away. 

     “Don’t worry, give her time,” her mom said and smiled. “You will cheer her up.”

     Another day sitting by the ocean, Isabella noticed Mrs. Alma looking at her through the upstairs window. Isabella gasped as she saw the lady emerge from the billowing curtains for the first time. She thought she saw a smile form on the woman’s face and then a friendly wave. 

     Isabella never saw the lady outside on her porch before, but one day she noticed that Mrs. Alma was sitting hunched over with a warm coat and a hot cup of tea in the sun on her overgrown porch. 

     “Enjoy the sun!” Mrs. Alma called out while waving her pale hand. 

     That was the first time Isabella heard her voice. Her mother said it used to be soothing and melodic, but now it was raspy and fraile. 

     The old lady looked so happy to see Isabella that she decided to go over and meet the woman. 

     “Hi Mrs. Alma!” Isabella said cheerfully. 

     The lady’s pale, wrinkled skin and dry, dark-gray hair were evident in the bright sun. Her eyes sparkled when Isabella came close. 

     “You must be Isabella?” asked the lady. The girl nodded. 

     “I remember when your mom was your age,” Mrs. Alma beamed, “and when you were a little baby.” She sighed, “You’ve grown up so fast!” 

     Isabella smiled and asked, “Do you want to go to the beach with me?” 

     The life seemed to drain from Mrs. Alma’s face and her eyes became cold and dark. She stammered as she opened her mouth. Fear struck Isabella like an ice-piercing wind. She backed away from the woman, not daring to turn her back on the wicked expression. 

     “Go back home to your mother. Never go to the beach alone. You’re a little child!” Mrs. Alma wearily shrieked in a high-pitched  voice. Furrowing her eyebrows the lady gripped the chair as she struggled to get up and immediately turned herself towards the door.  

     In horror, Isabella stared wide-eyed at the old woman and bolted across the beach to her mom. 

     She instantly found solace in the warm corridors leading up to her mother’s bedroom. 

     Acknowledging the distress in Isabella’s eyes, her mother looked at her pitifully and said, “Isabella, the beach reminds Mrs. Alma of her own daughter. She misses her very much and that’s why she got hurt. It’s not your fault.” 

     To make the little girl feel better, her mom encouraged her to bake some chocolate-chip cookies for the old woman. They scrunched cookie dough and chocolate chips together, baking them in the hot oven into crisp cookies. Once they were done, the sun began to dip its golden head below the silver water. 

     “Quickly, let's go before Mrs. Alma goes to sleep,” her mom called as they rushed out of the house with a bag full of warm cookies. 

     Knocking on Mrs. Alma's door, Isabella tried not to be frightened by their previous encounter. She felt like the door was looming over her until it creaked open by the old woman.  

     “Hello Mrs. Alma, how are you?” Her mom asked with a warm smile. Isabella’s eyes did not tear away from the old woman. She watched her gaze slowly settle on Isabella. A faint distraught sense hid behind her now soft eyes. 

     “Oh hello, what a nice surprise! I’m all right, how have you been my darling?” Mrs. Alma beckoned them inside. 

     Isabella’s mind was brimming with curiosity. She wondered what mysteries lay in the old woman’s house. They entered a dimly lit room. A ceiling light hung low to illuminate the wooden table, and old clumpy candles were scattered in every dark corner. A tea kettle whistled on the stove, some cupboards were ajar while others were sealed. Neatly stacked cups and plates sat starkly opposite to the rest of the belongings. It seemed that dust blanketed them after years without use. 

     Mrs. Alma thanked Isabella and her mom for the gesture. As Isabella pulled out one of the chairs, a white furry cat jumped up on the table with a loud meow. Startled, Isabella let the chair fall back on its legs. When hearing the thud, the cat dove off the table and hurried into another room. 

     “Oh don’t mind Bianca, she just gets nervous when someone new comes into the house,” Mrs. Alma smiled sweetly. 

     “I didn’t know you had a cat! She must keep you in good company,” Isabella’s mom remarked. 

     “Certainly.” Mrs. Alma’s face became slightly bitter. She looked at Isabella. “Well please go ahead and have some cookies, I won’t be able to finish them alone!” 

     As Isabella reached for a cookie and gazed around the quiet room, Mrs. Alma began talking about her childhood, playing in the same neighborhood where Isabella lived.. Isabella listened attentively while looking out for the cat. As the conversation steered towards family, the mood quickly drained of its cheer. 

     “I haven’t seen my sister in ages,” Mrs. Alma sighed, “We try to call sometimes, but she’s old like me and we hardly hear each other.” 

     “And David…have you heard from him since…?” Isabella’s mom asked softly. 

     “Ah..no. It’s my fault,” the old woman shook her head grimly, “I didn’t take care of him properly after Sofia.” 

     “It’s not your fault that he hasn’t reached out, it’s on him.” 

     “I thought I could protect him. But after the fraud he committed, he just disappeared and I have no idea where he is,” Mrs. Alma replied.

     “So all that money…He still has it?” 

     “Yes, probably. Everything he stole he took with him to Indonesia or who knows. When William found out…he couldn’t bear it.” Mrs. Alma’s voice shook and she blinked furiously to suppress her tears. 

     “Isabella,” her mom turned to her, “Can you go find Bianca? Mrs. Alma will let you feed her dinner.” 

     “Okay,” Isabella replied. Worried, she glanced at both of them and quickly got up to get Bianca. 

     “If only William was here it wouldn’t be so bad, but my whole family? Why did they all have to be taken away from me? I just can’t take it Veronica. I’m sorry, I don’t know who else to turn to,” Mrs. Alma said, wiping her tears with a shaky hand. 

     “Evelina, please, if you ever need me, then let me know. I don’t want you to suffer. The worst thing would be to leave you alone. Everyone needs company…” 

     The soft, hushed voices faded as Isabella ventured deeper into the house. She felt uncomfortable seeing Mrs. Alma cry. Maybe Bianca would help cheer her up. 

     In the dark corridor she spotted the fuzzy cat curled up on a red pillow in an office room. Golden light poured in from the single window. The cat watched with its glowing green eyes as Isabella crept up with her hand stretching towards it. 

Meowing once, Bianca lifted herself, her paws patting out of the room and up the stairs. 

     Her tousled fur ruffled  as she reached the top, and she disappeared around the corner. Isabella hesitated, thinking the upstairs might be forbidden. However, then she remembered that her mom asked to get the cat, so she couldn’t be blamed. 

     She carefully measured each step for potential creeks, avoiding spots that seemed threatening, until she reached the top. 

     “Bianca, I’m here,” Isabella whispered with a soft giggle. She crawled on all fours, starting from the nearest room. In the first room, a lamp offered yellow light that revealed scattered papers spilling from the table onto the floor. A colorful knitted blanket was folded neatly on the bed. It was covered with designs of stars and the moon. She looked closely in the dim lighting to read the words, ‘I love you, my Sofia’ that were embroidered on the corner. 

     The cat wasn’t there, so Isabella was about to enter the next when she heard a scurry come from the opposite room. She saw the tip of Bianca’s tail before she was gone. 

     “I got you!” Isabella whispered excitedly. 

     She spun around and ran into the room to catch the cat, seeing her in the corner. Bianca sniffed her hands and shifted from one paw to the other. Isabella’s eyes slowly regarded the large space; it was the most extensive out of all the others and the tidiest. The windows were grand with flowy, elaborate curtains on both sides, and the soft carpet was a subtle blush pink. The ornate ceiling chandelier glimmered in deep orange rays. Isabella gasped at the beauty of this room. It was fascinating—she wished it was hers. A small bed stood in the center of the room, the white frame beautifully ordained like in a palace. A golden chest sat on the side of the wall. Isabella opened it from the unhinged locks to see a heap of toys. She stared wide-eyed at the spectacle. This room was her dream come true. 

     Every shelf revealed something magical, the closet filled with sparkling little dresses and big plush toys. Unsure of whether to stay or search for the cat again, Isabella noticed a picture on the bedside table. 

     Looking closer, she saw a younger Mrs. Alma with a little girl at her side. On the other side stood a slightly older boy and a man. She assumed that this was Mrs. Alma’s family, that her mom had mentioned before. 

     Disheartened for Mrs. Alma again, Isabella felt guilty for intruding into a room that did not belong to her. She was about to leave when she heard footsteps approaching from the stairwell.   

     Panicking, Isabella hid behind the bed, hoping she wasn’t in trouble. 

     “No, I really don’t think so. Moving out of this house now would be too much. With such little time left, I might as well stay here until the end of my days,” Mrs. Alma replied.

     “Belle? Are you in here?” 

     She heard her mother’s quick steps across the fluffy carpet to find her hunched on the floor. “Come on, let's go back downstairs.” 

     “Oh that’s okay! I knew she might come here. It’s a pretty room isn’t it?” Mrs. Alma asked. Her eyes sparkled sorrowfully. 

     “Yes Mrs. Alma! Was it Sofia’s?” 

     “It was.” The old woman’s eyes glistened as she smiled at Isabella. 

     Walking through the hall and down the stairs, Isabella held the lady’s hand and chattered about how magnificent the room seemed to her. Mrs. Alma listened attentively and appreciated the little girl’s enthusiasm. 

     After Isabella fed Bianca, she and her mom said goodbye to Mrs. Alma and parted ways. 

     Days passed, and  summer melted into early autumn. Isabella spent the remaining warm days on the beach, looking out at the swirling ocean and the hazy blue house. 

     As the warm days drifted into cool afternoons, Isabella saw a familiar figure standing outside of the house one day while on the beach. Recognizing it to be Mrs. Alma, she went towards the figure until she reached her. Mrs. Alma was sitting on the porch again, wrapped tightly in a blanket. Her face looked paler and more fraile than before. She held a cup of hot tea in her thin, wrinkled hands. 

     “Hello Mrs. Alma!” Isabella said and smiled brightly. 

     “Hello Isabella,” the old woman replied and smiled back. 

     Remembering her last attempt, she urged the woman one more time, “Do you want to join me on the beach?” 

     “I would love to,” Mrs. Alma replied.. 

     Overjoyed, Isabella took Mrs. Alma’s hand, and they ventured to the beach. 

     “I have a lot of toys in Sofia’s room. Would you like to have them?”

     Isabella beamed, then hesitation fell over her, “But they were Sofia’s. Are you sure you want me to have them?” 

     “Yes, they’re no use sitting in that old chest. Sofia would appreciate a wonderful girl like you to own them.” 

      Isabella looked gratefully into Mrs. Alma’s gentle eyes. The sun glowed on her face, offering it a deep vibrancy for the first time.

     “Look Mrs. Alma, the sunset is so beautiful!” 

     “Yes, it’s wonderful.”