Feels Like Home Book Novels & Stories

Free, at last, from the wreckage we’d dragged behind us for so long. We followed the others down the winding staircase, the light growing softer, gold and amber like an old candle. As we stepped into the next chamber, my heart stilled. It was a home. But not like any I had ever known. The walls were curved like a ribcage, yet open and gentle, filled with books, warm cushions, mismatched mugs, a table set for four—five, if we let ourselves hope. It smelled faintly of cinnamon and old wood, like a memory I never made but missed deeply.

“The call is strong and very alluring, can’t you feel it. Myra frowned. “Nothing like that, Just feel like it looks amazing which it does.” She replied. Moe shook her head once more. “No it is more than that. It felt like home, one which I miss so much, like a good feeling and that is strange because I don’t associate good feeling and missing with the word home.”

Amelia. The bookstore always smelled like old papers and something close to peace, or rather freedom. It was the one place that felt like mine even though it was not. The store was someone else's, the books, the shelves and the paycheck at the end of the week was barely enough to call my own. But still, staying in the bookstore everyday made me forget for a little while that I had no problem waiting for me at home. Iris turned the key in the lock and rattled it once again to make sure it was properly held.

The title was simple, elegant, and deeply personal: Homeward Bound. The artwork depicted a warm, glowing house surrounded by trees, a pathway leading toward an open door. It wasn’t just any house. It was ours. Luca gasped. “Dad, that looks like our home!” Tears blurred my vision as I nodded. “Because it is,” I whispered. I opened the book, flipping through the pages. Each chapter told a piece of our journey, weaving together themes of love, resilience, and chosen family. The final page held the dedication, one I had written months ago but had never read aloud.

I personally think that home is not a place but the feeling that you get when you’re surrounded by the people you consider as your family. And all of them had such people in the place where we were headed. I didn’t have anyone like that anywhere in the world. So, naturally, I had no idea what home actually felt like. Because an empty house sure didn’t give off the feeling of home even after putting all those expertly edited pictures I had with my parents. Gosh! I’m so mopey! “Speaking of home, we’re here.” Thea informed us as she pulled through huge gates into a long drive-way that led to a huge mansion.

And for the first time in her life—both of them—she felt completely, utterly, at home. End of Chapter 84

"I asked Niamh." I grinned at him, moving forward to run my fingers along the spines of the books. "She was right. I feel at home here." I inhaled the musky scent of the library, releasing through my mouth. "It's like home. Just seeing the spines. Breathing in their scent."

But I didn’t. The house. This place. It wasn’t just tolerating me. It was accepting me. Not out of duty. But out of recognition. I wasn’t intruding on something sacred. I was home. For the first time in my life, I didn’t feel like I was anywhere at all. For the first time in my life, I felt like I was somewhere. Like something had waited for me to come home.

It was a unique and special feeling, one that I hadn't experienced in a long time. As the days passed, I found myself spending more and more time at the infirmary, especially in the retirement home. I would spend hours exploring the library with Anna, getting lost in the pages of old books and discovering new authors. The place felt like home, and I found myself feeling happier and more at peace than I had in weeks. The everyday simple life, the welcoming people, and the simplicity of the place all combined to make me feel like I was finally finding a sense of belonging.

I watched Mom and Dad fuss over my little brother, soothing him as they took him out the door. The door closed softly behind them. It was not loud, but it landed in my chest like a stone. I thought I would cry. I did not. My eyes stayed dry, almost painfully dry. I stood in the living room for a very long time before going back to my room and dragging the little suitcase out from under my bed. Five years ago, I had dragged that same suitcase into this home. I had been so small then that I could barely remember the children's home. What I remembered was Mom crouching in front of me, her eyes bright and kind, asking, "Do you want to come home with me?"