> If there's one thing that's always been true about me,
it's this:
I apologize.
Even when I didn't cause the mess.
Even when I'm the one bleeding.
Even when I'm the one thrown out.
It's always me who says sorry first.
---
That year, my kind-hearted mother brought someone new into our home.
A stranger.
Not fully sane.
Not family.
Just someone she felt sorry for.
And maybe that's one of the things I admire about her the most —
her ability to love even when it's inconvenient.
But back then?
I didn't treat him well.
Because honestly,
I've never known how to treat people better than I was treated.
And I hated — truly hated — anyone who came between me and the only things that made me feel safe:
> My TV.
My phone.
My quiet escapes.
---
One day, he did something.
I don't even remember what — just that Mom got really angry and locked him outside.
And for some reason…
that hurt me.
So I did the thing I never did for myself.
> I begged on his behalf.
But life being life?
> I'm the one who got chased out instead.
---
> First time sleeping outside.
First time watching the sky and wondering if stars felt cold too.
It was 11PM.
I was walking, loitering,
thinking of where to go.
I had no friends.
No one I could call and say,
> "Hey, can I sleep at your place?"
Without a long explanation or judgment.
---
But eventually, I put my pride aside and went to a classmate's house.
I didn't plan it.
Just stood outside.
Heart racing.
Thinking, What if they say no? What if I've really run out of places in this world?
Her name was familiar.
Her presence was safe.
But she wasn't home.
Only her six brothers.
---
I didn't say much at first.
Didn't know how to.
I just asked one of them to help me call her.
He did.
And when she answered,
I told her the softest version of the truth:
> "We had some problems at home…"
She didn't ask questions.
She didn't hesitate.
She told her brothers to let me stay.
And they did.
---
> I slept in a house with six boys that night.
Not because I wanted to,
but because I had nowhere else.
And even though they didn't touch me,
even though nothing happened,
I couldn't sleep.
Because every breath felt borrowed.
Every second felt like I was a heartbeat away from something going wrong.
---
But the strangest part?
> Nothing went wrong.
And sometimes, the absence of danger feels almost like a miracle.
---