Write for at least 250 words about a breakdown, a promotion, and a house.

As I ventured across the unkempt pathway, tripping slightly on the loose gravel and snagging my thin tights on the twigs of bushes that had stopped flowering years ago, I spied the faded green paint of the door. Cracked with the heat of the decades of summers and left to peel, it brought memories of my childhood rushing back. Those days when Mum had brought me here to stay when I was sick and couldn’t go to school; my reluctant fingers would grip the worn doorknob when she tried to drag me home at the end of the day. It didn’t smell right though, I thought as I tucked the keys into my pocket. Gingerbread, blankets, hot chocolate. Not this musty, empty, smell. Bracing myself I entered the living room. It was too much though - salt water leaked and fingers formed fists. I edged to the window, drew back the curtains, trying to relax. Each ornament and photo, the depressed area of carpet where her favourite chair had sat, snagged at my mind. I sank to the floor, my back to the window and bawled.

The vibration of my mobile cut through my stupor and brought my attention to my bedraggled and frankly vulnerable state. I dabbed my eyes, reached into my bag and took the call.
“Where are you?” Vicky hissed, “You’re late and I need your help.”
Trying not to sob I replied, “I’m not really available right now, can this wait?”
“No.” She’d hung up.

Reluctantly, I pulled myself to me feet maintaining that I’d come back when I had more time. Coming before work was a bad idea anyway but I’d thought the quick visit would have put my mind at rest and not, as it happened, cause a minor breakdown.  

Entering the office I was greeted by an eerie lack of people, no Vicky, and a note to head to one of the conference rooms. A promotion party, for me.

So, this is different for me. What do you think?