The kind that lets fresh air in.
Eli climbed onto the bottom bunk and laughed so loudly that for a moment I barely recognized our trailer.
He bounced once, then looked at me carefully.
Like he needed permission to be happy.
“It’s yours,” I told him.
“You sure?” he asked quietly.
“Yeah,” I said. “I’ll take the top. I’m older and way more dramatic.”
That made my mom laugh for the first time in months.
Before they left, the librarian taped my newest drawing onto the wall above the table.
Not the refrigerator.
The wall.
It was a picture of a house with glowing yellow windows.
Inside were four people, even though we were only three.
Karen noticed.
“Who’s the fourth person?” she asked.
I stared at the drawing for a moment.
“Maybe it’s the one who shows up when someone needs help,” I said.
Karen nodded slowly, like she didn’t trust herself to speak.
That night I lay on the top bunk, feeling the mattress support me in a way the hard floor never had.
Eli slept peacefully beneath me.
My mother sat beside his bed with her shoes off, looking around the trailer as if she had stepped inside a miracle.
At 6:17 the next morning, Karen sent a message to the phone number she had left with Mom.
Just checking in. Did everyone sleep okay?
Mom replied with a photo.
Eli curled under the star curtain.
Me sprawled across the top bunk.
Both of us completely asleep.
A minute later Karen texted back.
Sometimes safety looks exactly like this.
I still draw houses with warm glowing windows.
But now when I draw them, I don’t leave the rooms empty anymore.
I fill them with people.
Tired people.
Strong people.
People who are barely holding on.
And always one person standing at the door…
holding a lamp. ✨
