POV’s Tate
The drive home was also rather quiet. Everyone was simply exhausted by the mental strain from having to maneuver through dinner without offending Grandfather. By the time we got home, we were all ready for bed.
My room wasn’t anything special here. Since we’d moved three times in the past ten years, I’d refrained from adding too many personal touches to this room. It was painted ivory, with cream and gold accents. There was little more than the bed and desk in my room. Whenever I came home, I lived out of a suitcase. Between school and travel with my family, it was easy to remain detached from this space. I could tell that even though my mother tried to make the apartment a home, it lacked the warmth and love that could be found in a home like Philip’s.
When I entered my roo
