Is Homesick A Novel Or A Memoir?

That night, it all crashed. Three years. The moment she pulled open that particular bedside drawer in his bedroom and saw those papers, the truth sliced her deeper than any blade. It was never her. Has never been. The divorce he handed her felt like the final betrayal, a signature sealing years of lies. And she left with nothing but her pride vowing never to turn back. But, a year later, fate deals a cruel twist when they clash over the same billion-dollar deal only for the investor to demand, 'Work together or walk away'. Now, bound by a forced partnership, he regrets letting her go while she wonders if this partnership will heal her heart or break it all over again.

His hands were everywhere, and I let them be. “You know this is wrong,” he murmured against my throat. “I know.” I tilted my head back anyway. He pulled back, eyes dark. “Tell me to stop, Zella.” I looked at the silver in his hair, the jaw that could cut glass, my best friend’s father, twenty years too old and a thousand reasons too dangerous. “Don’t stop,” I whispered. Seven days before my Christmas wedding, I caught my fiancé with my cousin. By morning I had lost everything, my relationship, my job, my future. I walked into the London rain with nothing left. A stranger stopped his car. Offered an umbrella. Gave me a drink instead of the mistake I begged for. Then disappeared before dawn. I never expected to find him again in a darkened hotel room on New Year’s Eve… or to give him the one thing I’d never given anyone. The next morning, when my best friend introduced me to her father, Evander Ashford looked me in the eye and said, “Nice to meet you,” as if he hadn’t already ruined me the night before. He is forbidden. He is twice my age. He is the one man I was never supposed to want. But he is the first person who ever made me feel worth keeping, and the only place this broken heart has ever felt safe. Where Sin Feels Like Home — because sometimes the wrongest man is the only home you’ve ever known.

On the night of my engagement party, Luca Moretti walked his childhood sweetheart over to me. "Clara accidentally stained her dress," he said. "Let her borrow yours for a while." He added, "Everyone knows you're the main character tonight. It doesn't matter what you wear." I didn't bother objecting. The gown was already on her. I stood behind the half-closed back door in a borrowed black dress while his men laughed over their whiskey. "Luca, is your real fiancee going to lose it?" someone asked. Luca barely looked up from his glass. "Anna is going to be a Donna. She needs to learn grace." Another man snorted. "Besides, she's an orphan. Where's she gonna go without you?" Luca smiled. "She can't leave me." They didn't know I had never been an orphan. I had buried the Valenti name for five years because I wanted Luca to love me as Anna, not as the Valenti daughter. My father is the Mafia Chairman, the man every family answered to when the highest table met. That night, I took off the Moretti emerald ring, left it beside the guest book, and called home. "Papa, I’m not marrying Luca. Don't come to Chicago."

A young girl called Flo fleeing her country due to war, in search of a new home. Flo encounters joy and lots of sadness along with love and loss. Will Flo ever find home and a place of safety and comfort in this world of war and chaos.

Cailen has only one wish. To have a family he could belong to and a home to call his. ***** At thirteen, Cailen had been to different foster homes, each of them returning him for one reason or another. His heart had already taken so much rejection that hopelessness had set in, giving up on himself and shutting down, that even when a family does welcome him and love him, he still has his doubts. When Cailen returns from University to visit his family, he finds himself struggling to keep a secret that he knows will make him lose the only home and family that he has. Will Cailen lose himself? Or will he lose his family?

In my third year working overseas as a war correspondent, a grenade blast left me wounded and stripped me of my memories. The PTSD that followed was severe enough to keep me in a psychiatric hospital for two years. It wasn't until two months ago that I finally remembered who I was. The day I came home, my best friend and my husband met me at the airport, both of them crying harder than I was. Russell Ellison's eyes were red-rimmed, but his voice was as gentle as ever. "The new place is all set up. Move in for now. I'll come keep you company after work." I went back to our old house instead. The moment I pushed the door open, I saw a wedding photo hanging on the wall. The bride in it wasn't me. It was my best friend. A key turned in the lock outside. The man who was supposed to be buried in work at the office walked in, fingers laced with hers. A child was tucked against his chest, calling him "Daddy" in a small, unsteady voice. I stood frozen, too stunned to breathe. We'd only been apart for two years. So how was their child already three?