I went to work. I came home. I ate takeout from the same three places. I stared at walls.
People told me I was strong.
I wasn’t. I was just still breathing.
About a year later, I was on that same couch at two in the morning, scrolling through Facebook because sleep still wouldn’t come. The usual blur went by—politics, pets, vacation photos I didn’t want to see.
Then a local news post stopped my thumb.
“Four siblings need a home.”