It’s weird, being in a home that isn’t mine, yet sleeping in a room filled with all my things. Same dresser and mattress, and the trophies lining the wall that I insisted she didn’t need to set up. Everything looks so identical to how it was this time last year, but none of it feels that way. Part of me thinks I’ll never get used to it. But I do my best for my mom, and that’s a lot more than I can say for Theo.
