I didn’t ask why she’d really come. She said “to get back on my feet.” Everyone says that.
She moved into the spare room for real that night—not just her bags, but her photos, her books, her old sketchbook from high school. Over the next few weeks, the apartment started to feel less like a cave and more like a home. She cooked. I fixed the leaky sink. We watched bad movies and argued about music and, one night, she told me the rest—about the ex, about the fear, about the night she’d finally run. Step Sis Came to Live With Step Brother to Get ...
“Yeah,” I said, stepping aside. “It’s yours.” I didn’t ask why she’d really come
“No more frogs in my backpack.”