Chapter 2: The Storage Room Choice

When we reached the third floor, every room was decorated in bright, warm colors. Everything had a girly vibe—soft, sweet, too perfect.

Pink throw pillows. Fairy lights strung around mirrors. Posters of pop stars and ballet dancers. The air smelled faintly of vanilla and fresh paint. I took it all in, feeling like a stranger in a dollhouse.

“Emily, pick whichever you want—you can have any room!” my dad said, grinning.

He gestured grandly, like a realtor showing off a model home. The smile never quite reached his eyes. I watched him, searching for sincerity.

That one caught my eye—my gaze landed on the room closest to the stairs.

It was cozy. Sunlight spilled across the carpet. I could see a shelf full of books and a window seat with a view of the backyard maple trees.

On the bed sat a teddy bear. Big. Fluffy.

The bear was huge—almost as big as me. Its fur was soft, golden brown, with a ribbon tied neatly around its neck. It looked like something out of a childhood dream, too perfect to be real.

Last time, I was drawn to it right away. I thought my parents must really love me, so I picked that room without hesitation.

I’d never had a bear like that before. I thought it was a sign—something special, just for me.

I liked that bear.

Something about it made me feel safe. Like it could soak up all the loneliness I’d carried. I wanted to believe it meant something.

Their faces changed. After exchanging a look, they quickly smiled and said, “Emily, we forgot to tell you, this is your sister Ava’s room.”

Their smiles faltered for just a split second before snapping back into place. I caught the hesitation in their eyes, sharp and fleeting.

“Ava’s so thoughtful—she cleared out her own room so you could choose. Why don’t you take the biggest room instead…”

My mom’s voice trailed off, gentle but insistent. She gestured toward another room at the end of the hall, trying to steer me away. I felt a tiny knot in my stomach.

Back then, I blinked, grateful. “My sister gave me her room? She’s so nice.”

I felt a rush of warmth, believing I’d finally found a real sister. My voice was small, hopeful.

I still liked that bear. Still liked that room.

I couldn’t stop staring at it. The way the sunlight hit its fur. The way it seemed to wait for me.

My parents exchanged another look, wanting to say something but holding back. I tried to read their faces, but I couldn’t.

Their eyes flicked to each other, mouths tightening. I didn’t understand the silent conversation passing between them. I just wanted to belong.

But I was already too happy, so I ran in, hugging the bear without hesitation.

The bear was soft, its arms wide enough to wrap around me. I buried my face in its fur and let myself pretend, just for a second, that I belonged.

Just then, Ava came home with her backpack.

She walked in, hair pulled back in a neat ponytail, uniform crisp. She paused in the doorway, taking in the scene. I froze, not sure what to do.

Ava was my age—fifteen—but way more mature, not as clueless as me.

Her gaze was sharp, measuring. She always seemed to know exactly what was going on, even when I didn’t. I felt a little lost under her stare.

Seeing me in her room, she pressed her lips together, forced a small smile, and said, “I heard my sister came home, so I took the day off and rushed back. Do you like this room, Em? Then you can have it.”

Her voice was sweet, but her eyes flickered with something I couldn’t name. She held herself stiff, fingers white-knuckled around her backpack straps. I wondered what she was really thinking.

After she spoke, she bit her lip and turned away.

She wouldn’t meet my eyes, her shoulders hunched just a little. I thought she was being shy, and I wanted to reach out, but I didn’t know how.

My parents noticed every little change in her face. I watched them, wishing they’d notice me the same way.

My mom’s hand hovered at her back, ready to comfort her. My dad’s eyes narrowed, searching for a reaction. The room felt tense, like everyone was waiting for something to happen.

My mom hurried in and pulled me aside: “Emily, pick another room. This one’s too big, it doesn’t feel right.”

She tugged gently at my sleeve, trying to steer me out. Her voice was low and urgent, like she was afraid someone would overhear.

“Why not?”

I looked at her, confusion knotting in my chest. I didn’t understand why it mattered.

I was confused. I could sense the mood shift, the air getting heavier.

The air felt heavier, like I’d missed a cue in a play everyone else knew by heart. I felt like I was failing a test I didn’t know I was taking.

But how could I have known what was wrong back then?

I was still new, still desperate to please. I didn’t see the lines I wasn’t supposed to cross. I just wanted to be loved.

My parents had cried for me. Said they loved me so much.

I remembered their tears, their promises. I clung to them, needing to believe.

Ava had even offered up her room for me to choose.

She’d said it herself, so it had to be okay, right?

I was their real daughter—was it wrong to pick the room I liked?

Wasn’t that what daughters did? Didn’t I deserve to want something, just this once?

So I was just full of doubt.

It gnawed at me, silent and sharp. I wanted to ask, but the words stuck in my throat.

My mom’s face changed again, wanting to say something but stopping. I watched her, waiting, but nothing came.

She pressed her lips tight, eyes darting away. I could see the tension in her jaw, the way she wouldn’t meet my eyes.

My dad grew stern, but said nothing.

He crossed his arms, jaw set, watching the whole thing unfold like a judge at a trial. I felt like I was on trial, too.

Ava stepped in to help me make the bed. “Em, just stay here. This home was yours from the start, you can live anywhere.”

Her hands were quick and practiced, smoothing the sheets. Her voice was soft, but I could hear something brittle underneath, like she was holding something back.

So I stayed.

I sat on the edge of the bed, hugging the bear, pretending not to notice the way everyone else tiptoed around me.

Back in Maple Heights, all I knew was how to handle pots, pans, and work the little backyard garden. After coming to the city, I still only knew about pots, pans, and gardens. Nothing here felt familiar.

I missed the dirt under my nails, the quiet rhythm of chopping vegetables, the way the sun felt on my back. Here, everything was polished and perfect, but it felt cold. I missed the messiness of home.

But there was nothing like that here.