On Moving Day, I Opened a Door and Smelled the Truth
I arrived with boxes and a rented pickup.
The house felt wrong — like I was walking into someone else’s life.
Trevor leaned in the doorway grinning.
“Didn’t take much to expose you,” he said. “Mom finally understands who you really are.”
I didn’t answer.
I walked past him and went upstairs.
The guest room door was shut.
It had always been unlocked.
When I turned the handle and stepped inside, the smell hit first.
Stale beer.
Cigarette smoke.
Cheap whiskey.
The room wasn’t my room anymore.
A stained mattress lay crooked on the floor.
Empty bottles littered the nightstand.
The curtains were pulled tight.
The closet stood open like a mouth full of secrets.
Then I saw the envelopes.
A stack on the dresser.
None of them had my name.
Every single one was addressed to Trevor Foster.
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