Divorced mom renovates old house with her kids to start a new life, what they found inside… shocked everyone

The roof has to come first. There’s no point doing anything else until that’s fixed. I can help you source materials, maybe even get some discounts through my connections.

And your labor costs? Rebecca asked hesitantly. Daniel glanced at Noah, who was pretending not to listen while examining a loose floorboard. I could work weekends, teach you some basics, so you can do some simpler stuff yourself.

That would cut down significantly on cost. Rebecca felt a wave of relief. That would be incredible.

Thank you. Mom, mom. Sophie’s voice echoed from upstairs.

Come up here. You need to see this. Rebecca and Daniel exchanged glances before heading up the precarious staircase.

They found Sophie in what would be her bedroom, carefully peeling away layers of faded wallpaper. Look what I found underneath. Behind the floral pattern were pencil sketches directly on the plaster.

Beautiful drawings of the town as it had looked decades ago, along with notes and dates. One section showed the very house they stood in, labeled, Home Sweet Home, 1945. These are amazing.

Rebecca breathed, running her fingers over the lines. There’s a signature, Sophie pointed. Evelyn W. Evelyn Wilson.

Daniel nodded. The original owner. She was quite the local character from what I’ve heard.

My grandfather used to talk about her. She’s still alive, Rebecca said. My grandmother’s best friend.

The real estate agent mentioned she moved to a smaller place in town a few years back. That’s why I was drawn to this house. The connection.

Sophie was still examining the drawings. These are really good. She was talented.

It was the most enthusiasm Sophie had shown about anything since they’d arrived. We should preserve these, Rebecca decided. When we redo this room, we’ll leave this wall as is.

It’s part of the house’s story. That afternoon, as Daniel measured the roof for materials, a car pulled up outside. A small, elderly woman with perfectly coiffed white hair made her way carefully up the broken path to the front door.

Rebecca opened it before she could knock. Mrs. Wilson? The older woman’s eyes crinkled. Rebecca Taylor.

Look at you. All grown up. I’d recognize those eyes anywhere just like your grandmother’s.

Rebecca stepped forward to help her up the porch steps. Please come in. Though I should warn you, the house is in rough shape.

Mrs. Wilson waved away her concern. I know exactly what shape it’s in, dear. I couldn’t take care of it properly these last few years.

Arthur. That was my husband. He always handled the maintenance.

After he passed, things started to fall apart. She looked around the entrance hall with a curious mix of sadness and acceptance. Rather like I did, I suppose.

They settled in the living room, where Rebecca had set up a few folding chairs, the only furniture they currently had besides their sleeping bags. I heard you’d bought the place, Mrs. Wilson continued. People talk in small towns, you know.

When I heard it was Margaret’s granddaughter, well, I had to come see for myself. She fixed Rebecca with a knowing look. You’re running from something, aren’t you? Just like your grandmother did when she first came to town.

Rebecca was taken aback. I didn’t know grandma was running from anything. Mrs. Wilson smiled.

Oh, yes. Margaret arrived here in 1952 with a broken engagement behind her and not much else. She thought she’d failed at life.

Turned out, life was just getting started. She patted Rebecca’s hand. This house has seen its share of new beginnings.

Sophie appeared in the doorway, hovering uncertainly. And who might this young lady be? Mrs. Wilson asked. This is my daughter, Sophie.

Rebecca introduced them. Sophie, this is Mrs. Wilson. She’s the one who drew those pictures upstairs.

Mrs. Wilson’s eyes lit up. You found my drawings? Oh my, I’d forgotten all about those. Arthur was always after me to stop drawing on the walls, but I told him, it’s our house.

Who’s to say we can’t decorate it how we please? Sophie stepped forward. They’re really good. Did you ever become an artist? In my own small way, Mrs. Wilson replied.

I illustrated children’s books for years, nothing famous, mind you. But it brought me joy. She studied Sophie.

You have an artist’s eyes, I can tell. Do you draw? Sophie shifted uncomfortably. I used to.

Not much anymore. Mrs. Wilson nodded thoughtfully. Well, creative wells run dry sometimes.

They fill back up when you’re ready. She turned to Rebecca. Now, I didn’t just come to reminisce.

I’ve brought you something. She reached into her large handbag and pulled out a worn leather-bound book, The House Diary. Arthur and I recorded everything about this house when we replaced the water heater.

What color we painted each room, where we planted bulbs in the garden. I thought it might help you. Rebecca accepted the book with reverence.

This is, thank you. This is invaluable. You’ll find your grandmother in there too, Mrs. Wilson added with a twinkle in her eye.

She helped us plant the rose garden in 63. And there was the summer of 67 when a tree branch crashed through the upstairs window during a storm, and your grandfather helped Arthur repair it. She rose with some difficulty.

I should be going, but I’ll be back to check on your progress. This old house deserves people who love it back to life. As Rebecca walked her to the door, Mrs. Wilson paused.

It gets better, you know. Whatever you’re healing from, the cracks don’t disappear, but they become part of your story. After she left, Rebecca opened The House Diary, finding entries dating back to 1935 when the house was first built.

It was a treasure trove of information where the water main was located, which windows tended to leak, the composition of the original plaster walls. Mom, Noah called from the backyard. Mr. Ortiz is showing me how to measure for the treehouse repairs.

Through the window, Rebecca could see her son following Daniel around the oak tree, clipboard in hand, face serious with concentration. It was the happiest she’d seen him since the divorce. That evening, while the kids were occupied, Rebecca climbed to the attic with a flashlight…