The room they gave me was bigger than my entire bedroom back home.
It still didn’t feel like mine.
I stood in the middle of it that evening, looking around slowly.
Large window.
Soft gray walls.
A bed that was probably twice the size of the one I used to sleep in.
Everything in the room looked new. Fresh sheets. A clean desk. A tall bookshelf that was mostly empty except for a few random novels someone must have placed there to make the room feel lived in.
But it didn’t.
It felt like a guest room.
Which made sense.
Because that’s exactly what I was.
A guest in a house that belonged to a family I barely knew.
A house my parents had apparently visited before.
That thought still sat strangely in my mind.
I walked toward the window and looked out at the long stretch of lawn behin
