The House Looked Familiar… Until It Didn’t
The entryway was the same.
Living room to the right. Kitchen straight ahead. Stairs to the left.
My body remembered the layout the way a scar remembers pressure.
But the house wasn’t a museum.
It was alive.
The living room held desks with computers.
Filing cabinets lined the wall.
A whiteboard displayed a duty roster, meal schedule, and medical appointments.
“This is our office now,” Maggie explained. “We repurposed rooms as we grew.”
“How many people live here?” I asked, hearing my voice like it belonged to someone else.
