Chapter 18 - Going HomeTwo days later, we brought Samuel home.
Walking into the apartment felt different this time. It wasn't just a place where we slept between shifts; it was a sanctuary. The afternoon sun poured through the windows, illuminating the dust motes in the spotless living room.
I set the car seat down gently on the rug and unbuckled Samuel. Rebecca stood beside me, leaning her head on my shoulder.
"It's so quiet," she whispered.
"It's peaceful," I corrected.
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We spent the evening on the couch, the three of us bundled together under a blanket. No loud televisions, no demanding voices, no passive-aggressive comments. Just the sound of our son's soft breathing and the quiet hum of the refrigerator.
I realized then that a home isn't defined by the walls or the furniture, and it certainly isn't defined by allowing toxic blood relatives free reign just because they share your last name. A home is a fortress of safety for the people you choose to love.
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