Just Like Home Book Novels & Stories

Actually, stupidly, embarrassingly happy in the way that sat warm behind my ribs and refused to behave professionally. I picked up the second bag before my face could finish announcing this to the room. Inside was a book. Small, worn at the edges, the kind that came from a specific shop rather than an airport. I turned it over. Architecture. Edinburgh, specifically. Old drawings of buildings that had never been built. I looked up. He was watching Brynn try on the scarf. He wasn't looking at me. But the book was in my hands and it was specific in a way that airport gifts weren't and I pressed my lips together and looked back down at it.

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The dining hall was grand, with long tables set for a feast, and I knew, without a doubt, that my babies and I were finally home, and best of all we had our mate and chosen family with us here. ____________________ This book is the property of Ulliend Musings and its brand. It is only to be promoted or disturbed by approved formats such as Goodnovel and KindleVella.

He told me as he held it out for me to take. “Emma Fennelly!” I spoke aloud as I read the neat black ink on the front of the book. “I can read this?” “You can read whatever book in here you want. I know you miss your life at home, and I know you must miss your parents terribly and that none of this was of your asking or doing, but while you are here, just think of it as your new home away from home. So, you can come in here and read whenever you like. Apart from the bedrooms of others, the rest of this place is yours just as much as it is theirs”.

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?"

Not like a ghost. Not like a secret. It's like a home listening to a good story.

[Maria] Auntie Imani’s house was just a tiny little home behind the bookstore, accessible only through an alleyway. At first glance from the outside, it even looked smaller than the bookstore itself. Auntie Imani opened the door and invited me inside. The moment I stepped in, I was immediately greeted by a familiar feeling. In that modestly sized room, I could almost hear the footsteps of little children running around, pressing their hands against walls where the paint had begun to peel away.

He paused for a bit and continued, "But I'll still support you no matter what you choose to do. There's no need for you to return to a home like that anyway." He didn't drive us home that night. Instead, he drove us to the lakeside. A fireworks display lit up the sky, with brilliant bursts reflecting off the shimmering river. Yet it wasn't enough to thaw the chill in my heart. Kevin stopped the car and took my hand again. "You can cry if you want to." I shook my head. My tears had long since dried up. "I just find it… so absurd. As it turned out, 20-something years of family affection couldn't even compare to a stranger's brief companionship or even just a few words of provocation from her."

It lооkѕ like a comfy fаmіlу home. People lіvе hеrе, a сhіld lives hеrе, аnd Blаkе іѕ раrt of a family. I’m not ѕurе whу I’m ѕurрrіѕеd. Maybe bесаuѕе hе ѕееmѕ tо have turned оut so wеll, I wаѕ еxресtіng more of a utilitarian hоuѕе—аѕ іf a cop ѕhоuld hаvе оnе tуре of hоmе déсоr, аnd lіbrаrіаn аnоthеr. People’s careers don’t define thеm. I knоw thаt, I juѕt seem tо fоrgеt thіngѕ I knоw now thаt I’m аrоund hіm.