No Place Like Home Novel Novels & Stories

I ask before I can stop myself. "Dunno bro. Where's home? Home is nowhere but here " Stan says and beats his chest. "Trace and the unborn child, that's home. " I nod in agreement. I believe Stan. Home is not a house with an address. It is the people we love and care about. Stan has his home with Trace and the baby. The silence in the room is deafening. I wonder if I would ever boast of having a home in the future. For now, I know I do not have one.

At the very least, not now. Two days after I was discharged, Aiden finally came home. Chloe was sent to her grandmother's house. I was sitting alone at the dining table, eating a bowl of plain noodles. He walked in, took off his coat, changed his shoes, and glanced at me. His voice was indifferent as he said he was out of town for a conference the past two days. I kept my head down, focusing on my noodles, and didn't bother responding.

However, Suzy slammed her utensils down. "Henry, is this really how your family treats me? I'd be better off going home for the holidays." My brother was quick to smooth things over. "Suzy, it's pitch-black outside, where could you possibly go?" Mom chimed in quickly, "Yeah, Suzy, don't pick a fight with her. She hardly ever comes home, just for New Year's. They can crash in the guest room, and you guys take the master."

He was successful in finding me, and bringing me home. Home is not a place. Home is not a house or an apartment, or any kind of building. Home is a person. Home is where you belong with someone more than you belong in any space or location. I may not have a place to lay my head anymore or a building full of belongings and memories, but I have a person who needs me, a person who calls me home, too. How can I stay here, even in the warmth of my parents’ embrace, something I never thought I’d feel again, and not go back to him?

I held the bag in the air, “I want the North End of the city.” North End has always been the territory controlled by the Russo family; it’s their headquarters. I knew he wouldn’t agree. He was never reckless enough to sacrifice his family’s reputation and wealth to make it up to an old flame he had. Unexpectedly, his reply, solid and certain, came back to me like a blow to the gut. “Sure. North End is yours.”

I wanted to go home. Which home? That was never a home to me. The thought pierced through me like glass. I wanted the narrow cot in the shabby apartment. I wanted the noise of traffic outside the broken window. I wanted the cheap blanket that smelled like dust. It hadn’t been much, but it was mine. Now I had nothing.No home.No freedom. No choice.

I fell asleep to the sound of it and the warmth of his arm and the particular feeling of being somewhere I had chosen and that had chosen me back — and in the last coherent moment before sleep took me entirely I had one clear thought, simple and complete and entirely true: I had never in my life felt so completely at home somewhere that wasn't home. The End

Our grandchildren came running toward us. Still wearing pajamas. Hair completely uncombed. The youngest climbed straight onto Liam's lap. "Mom said everyone is making breakfast." Another tugged gently on my hand. "Come on." I looked at Liam. He looked at me. Without saying a word... we smiled. Home wasn't a place anymore. It wasn't the mansion we once lived in. Or the beach house filled with memories. Home... was this. A family built with patience. With forgiveness. With ordinary days that slowly became extraordinary.

*Estelle* It was the middle of the night and the streets were silent. The scent of flower boxes and foliage filled the crisp, clean forest air as we continued down the cobblestone walk. We passed a butcher shop, a bakery, and a coffee shop. It was like something out of a romance movie. It was the kind of place I always dreamed of settling down in. Awestruck, I asked, "Home?" This cute little village was his home? It didn't seem possible for someone so cold to come from a place that seemed so warm. Then again, I knew better than to judge a book by its cover. Gabe's cover was undeniably alluring, but inside was a different story.

After saving up for five years with Cindy Labelle, we finally go house hunting. My best friend, Caleb Jarding, comes along too. He points to the floor plan I've been studying for the past six months and asks Cindy, "The second bedroom needs to be turned into a gaming room. Can we knock down the wall?" Cindy replies, "Let's get a designer to take a look tomorrow. You can change it however you want." The two of them talk about everything from the orientation to the tiles, and then from the floor-to-ceiling windows to the bathtub. I stand in the corner, unable to get a word in. Only when it's time to sign the contract does Cindy suddenly remember my existence. She says, "Let's put Cal's n