Pa**** Posted September 22 The silence was the first thing she noticed. Not the broken kind she knew from alleys and borrowed couches — the silence always shattered by sirens, voices, or the scr*pe of someone else’s need. This silence was whole. Heavy. So deep she could hear the cat’s steady breath beside her. The bed felt too wide, too soft. It had swallowed her whole in the night, even though she hadn’t meant to sleep at all. Shoes still on, bag clutched close, she’d told herself she’d just rest her eyes. But the mattress betrayed her, dragging her down into a sleep she hadn’t planned to trust. When she sat up, the cat was watching her from the quilt. Blue eyes bright, unreadable. She reached out, half-expecting it to recoil. Instead it pressed into her hand, purring loud enough to shake the silence. She rose and let her gaze wander across the room. The bathroom door stood ajar: glass shower, separate tub, white tile gleaming in the morning light. The kind of space you saw in magazines, not in the corners of survival. The sliding glass door caught her next — a glimpse of the backyard, fence lines etched against desert sky. The latch gleamed in the light, simple, easy. A way out if she needed one. Always know the exits. And then the closet. Door slightly open, revealing neat stacks of clothes, some folded too carefully, some still tagged. Not worn, not wanted, just waiting. Hand-me-downs, maybe. She touched a sleeve, soft and clean, then pulled her hand back fast, as if the fabric itself had caught her stealing. She stood there for a long moment, the weight of the room pressing down. Comfort she didn’t believe in. Shelter she didn’t trust. Plenty she hadn’t earned. It wasn’t her world. Not yet. But for the first time in longer than she could remember, she wanted to believe it might be.
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