Novel & Cerita Going Home Steel Novel

The entire week goes by uneventfully. Every morning, I go to the bakery to work, leaving only when the sun has already set, and go back home to focus on my novel, which is miraculously halfway done by now. It is the only thing keeping me excited after my bitter argument with Spencer on Sunday. I haven’t talked to him at all since, and he hasn’t tried to contact me either. Not that I was expecting him to. He made it pretty obvious that he was mad and done with me when he walked away from me that night.

And home isn't a place or a pack or even a person. Home is this feeling—this peace, this certainty, this love that asks for nothing but gives everything. Diego's hand finds mine, our fingers intertwining. "Ready to head back?" he asks. I look around at my family, my pack, my past. All of it is finally at peace. "Yeah," I say softly. "I'm ready." We walk away from the bonfire together, toward our future, and I don't look back. I don't need to.

We had not just survived our story. *** The homecoming was not a fanfare, but a quiet, profound reintegration. Arthur moved back into the house, and the silence that had been so oppressive was now filled with the comfortable, familiar sounds of our life together—the rustle of his newspaper, the clink of his coffee cup, the soft hum of his presence in the next room. The peace felt deeper now, hard-won and infinitely more precious.

The dark cloud that had hovered over their lives for so long was finally dissipating, making way for a brighter future. Tiger guided Abraham through the elegant halls of the Kelvin mansion, their footsteps echoing in the silence. Abraham couldn't help but marvel at the grandeur of his surroundings, feeling a mix of awe and gratitude. After years of separation and injustice, he had finally found his way back to his true home. As they reached the doors of the magnificent drawing-room, Tiger paused, his hand resting gently on Abraham's shoulder. "Welcome home, Abraham. This mansion has missed your presence, and our family has yearned for this moment. You belong here, with us."

he said impatiently. Soon, they arrived back at the Linnus residence. As soon as he got out of the car, Dad stormed into the living room angrily. When he saw Aunt Caroline kneeling on the ground and crying uncontrollably, he stopped abruptly. In front of her lay my body, so rotted that it was almost unrecognizable.

Mom follows me, and Coit closes the car door. The driver starts the engine, and we drive away. Coit and the servants wave at us as we leave. I look back and watch the people I grew up with and my childhood home disappear behind me. A part of me will always belong to Moon Gove and my pack, but this isn’t my only home anymore. I’m going back to the other home I’ve found–Kane.

Knowing he wasn’t anywhere near to hear me, I let out a sigh, disappointed. Dusting off the book that I had been holding, I realized that now my mood has been soiled, and I wanted to return home. The book no longer seemed to be worth all of the trouble that it had brought me this morning. With a deep breath, I decided to head home, a basement under maid’s apartment , where I lived.

I don’t understand getting excited about a nail polish color or the sale at a certain store, but I get the excitement of going home for a few days. Home. That is such a weird thing to think about, because the compound is home to me. The castle is home to me. If I really think about it the Blue Crescent packhouse is home sort of. I don’t know if it will feel the same if or when I go back though. I have changed a lot being with the warriors and it hasn’t even been a year yet.

**A Week Later** Going home was something that Reiner didn’t look forward to and that was precisely why he hasn’t been home in many years. After running off and living life as he pleased for many years, he had decided that it was time to head home. Unfortunately, he owed his old man some explanations and perhaps an apology or two. All in all, Reiner still disliked the idea of going home.

“Home?” I repeated in question. Home. I lived from one orphanage to another. I didn’t really have a permanent place to stay. I was alone but wasn’t lonely. I didn’t have a shelter of my own but I was home. For eighteen years, wherever I went, I was home. At first, I find it weird being comfortable with a new place at an instant, feeling home, but now I know why. It was because home was following me. Home doesn’t refer to a thing with doors and windows. Home is a person or even a ghost. Sadness slowly crept in my system. I just lost that home. Recently, I discovered that I got myself another home, Grip, but I lost them both right after another.