Okay.
So, first off—
I didn't ask to be here.
One moment it was warm, floaty, and squishy—
then suddenly, I got shoved out into a place that was loud, bright, and smelled like disinfectant and blood.
Rude.
Also, why was everyone crying but me?
Even that man with the scary face who looked like he could strangle a bear bare-handed—
yeah, he was crying.
Big, dangerous arms.
Voice like thunder.
Total marshmallow.
"He's here," he kept whispering, holding me like I was made of glass and guilt and God all at once.
"He's really here…"
And the woman next to him?
Softest thing I've ever felt.
Heart pounding beneath her skin like a drum.
Voice humming in my bones.
She smelled like—
...home.
She looked tired, sweaty, kind of broken.
But also like a queen who just came back from war.
"Hey," she whispered, stroking the top of my head.
"You gave me a hell of a time."
Sorry, Mom.
I don't exactly come with a manual.
But when her hand brushed over my face—
and that man beside her leaned in to kiss her forehead, whispering—
"You made him… you actually made us..."
I realized something.
I belonged to them.
And they belonged to me.
Even if Dad growled when people got too close.
Even if Mom kept a knife under my crib.
Even if my lullabies were in Russian and half-coded in threats.
Yeah.
I was home.
—