Chapter 4
Chapter 4
I shut out the noise from downstairs.
Back in my room, I started going through my stuff.
There isn’t much. I’ve barely left a mark on this place.
Most of my clothes and things-Mom had the housekeeper order them in bulk when I first got here.
High-end brands, designer labels. But completely impersonal. Like furnishing a guest room.
The only thing that’s actually mine is this beat-up suitcase.
A few old clothes and a photo album from my foster parents’ house.
That album holds the only pictures of the three of us together.
In those photos, they’re holding scrawny little me, their faces lined and weathered, smiles crinkling their eyes. Pure love.
That was home.
I ran my thumb across the worn edge of a photo, my chest tightening, eyes burning.



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