Deprived in My Own Home

On the first day we moved in, the apartment was filled with cardboard boxes.

My dad, Frank Lupin, was crouched in the living room studying the newly purchased furniture.

My mom, Mary Lupin, was helping my sister, Kalista Lupin, assess her jewelry and clothes.

My brother, Keane Lupin, was busy sorting through his combat manuals.

I was the only one who had been working nonstop from the afternoon until late at night.

I made my parents' bed.

I hung up Kalista's clothes.

I then crouched on the floor and arranged Keane's dozens of pairs of hunting boots on the shoe rack one pair at a time.

By the time every room had been organized, only my six cardboard boxes remained outside the bathroom.

Mom glanced at them and casually said, "Don't unpack your things yet. There's nowhere to put them anyway. In a few days, we can move them down to the storage unit."

I opened the top box.

Inside were the certificates of commendation I had accumulated during my years in the guard, scattered mission reports, and an old moonstone desk lamp. I had traded for that lamp on the black market shortly after joining the guard.

To earn enough merit points by taking on extra night patrols, I had rented the cheapest partitioned room near the guard headquarters.

The room had no windows. Even during the day, I had to keep the lights on.

Through countless late nights, I had sat beneath that lamp organizing intelligence, studying tactics, and recording what I had learned from every mission.

I had once believed that once we moved into a larger home, I would finally have a desk of my own.

But now, Keane's shoe rack occupied an entire wall.

Kalista's room had an island dedicated solely to displaying her jewelry, and my lamp didn't even have a place where I could plug it in.

Kalista poked her head out of her room.

"Blair, I still have a few boxes of clothes over here. Can you help me move them? We're having a housewarming celebration tomorrow, and I need to get everything organized today."

I didn't refuse.

When I reached the last box, the bottom suddenly split open. A pair of high heels fell to the floor, and one of the thin heels sliced across the back of my hand.

Kalista let out a startled cry, but her first reaction was to crouch down and inspect the shoes.

When she saw that one of the heels had broken, her expression immediately darkened.

"These are a limited edition. They don't make them anymore."

Mom rushed over after hearing the commotion. Her expression was grim.

"I only asked you to move a few things, and you still managed to break something. Kalista has guests coming over tomorrow. Can't you make things easier for her?"

Blood dripped from my fingertips onto the floor.

No one asked whether I was hurt.

Mom merely handed me a rag.

"Hurry up and wipe it clean. Don't leave marks on the new floor."

That night, Dad suggested taking a family photo to celebrate the move.

My parents sat in the center of the sofa while Kalista and Keane stood close to them on either side.

Dad handed me his phone.

"Blair, you're good at taking pictures. Make us look good."

I stood outside the frame and pressed the shutter.

They looked especially happy in the photo.

Mom immediately posted it in the werewolf pack group chat with a caption.

[Our family has finally moved into the home we've always dreamed of.]

The replies were filled with congratulations, but no one asked why the person who had contributed the most wasn't in the picture.

After the photo was taken, Mom spread a thin blanket over the sofa.

"You'll sleep here tonight. Keane has training early in the morning tomorrow, so try not to make too much noise and disturb him."

At one in the morning, Keane was still in the living room. He was telling his friends on the phone how excited he was about the move.

Curled up at the very edge of the sofa, I waited until he finally hung up before closing my eyes.

Before dawn, Kalista got up to look through her clothes again.

She turned on the living room lights and frowned when she saw me still sleeping on the sofa.

"You sleeping here makes it inconvenient whenever anyone needs to get up at night."

I stared at the ceiling. After a long silence, I finally said, "Just bear with it for a few more days."

She didn't understand what I meant, and I didn't bother explaining.

That's because in seven days, I would be gone.