Kennedy

After lunch, Connor and my father go off to talk, probably about the ceremony tonight. My mother, Quirin, and I head up to my room to pack the rest of my things.

“I looked around last night and I don’t think I need to take much. Quirin has plenty of furniture, so I just want to take one of my smaller dressers,” I tell my mother.

As I pack up my things, Quirin takes them to the truck we brought. When I’m done, I look around the space that was my bedroom for eighteen years and ...