The dining room buzzed with energy as the Blakes put the finishing touches on the table. The scent of roasted turkey, buttery mashed potatoes, and cinnamon-spiced apple pie filled the air, making my stomach twist with a mix of hunger and nerves. The silverware gleamed under the soft glow of the chandelier, and the table was adorned with a crisp white tablecloth, a scattering of autumn leaves, and a flickering candle centerpiece that made the whole scene feel warm and inviting.

The doorbell rang, breaking the hum of activity. Lily, always the most excitable, darted toward it, nearly tripping over her own feet. "They're here!" she shouted, her voice carrying a giddy thrill as she flung the door open.

A burst of chilly November air rushed in as the guests stepped inside, their cheeks flushed pink from the cold. "Happy Thanksgiving!" Mrs. Blake greeted warmly, stepping forward to embrace the newcomers. "Come in, come in."

Lily and Sam's grandparents entered with easy smiles. Mr. Blake's father, a tall man with a thick gray mustache, had the kind of presence that filled a room. He let out a booming laugh as he shook hands and clapped Sam on the back. "Smells like a feast in here!" he declared.

Beside him, Mrs. Blake's mother, a petite woman with soft curls, cradled a pie wrapped in foil, her eyes twinkling as she handed it to her daughter. "I brought my apple pie, just like always," she said. "I hope there's still room on that table for it."

"There's always room for your pie, Mom," Mrs. Blake said with a grin, carefully placing it among the other desserts.

As the cheerful greetings continued, I lingered by the table, unsure of where to place myself in all the familiarity. I pressed my fingers against the hem of my sweater, grounding myself as I watched the warm exchange between the family. It wasn't that they weren't welcoming—if anything, their kindness was overwhelming. But being here, in the middle of someone else's traditions, made me feel like a nobody.

Mrs. Blake must have noticed because she turned toward me with a gentle smile. "This is Emily," she said, her voice carrying warmth as she motioned in my direction. "She's staying with us for now."

The grandparents turned their eyes toward me, their smiles genuine, their expressions soft with understanding. "It's lovely to meet you, Emily," Mrs. Blake's mother said. Her voice was gentle, reassuring in a way that eased some of the tightness in my chest. "Happy Thanksgiving."

"Happy Thanksgiving," I replied, my voice quieter than I intended. Still, I tried to muster a smile, feeling the weight of their kindness settle over me like a soft blanket.

"Come here, sweetheart," Mr. Blake's father said, opening his arms for a hug. It caught me off guard—hugs weren't something I was used to—but before I could even think about stepping back, Mrs. Blake's mother reached out instead, giving my hand a light squeeze. It was small, but it meant something.

"Let's get you all settled," Mrs. Blake said, steering the conversation forward. "Dinner's just about ready."

As everyone settled into their seats, the scent of roasted turkey, spiced stuffing, and buttery mashed potatoes filled the dining room, mingling with the faint aroma of the wood-burning stove. Silverware clinked against plates as dishes were passed around, the golden rolls still steaming from the oven. Laughter and quiet chatter hummed through the air, warmth settling in like a thick, comforting blanket.

Then, the sound of a door creaking open cut through the din. I glanced up just in time to see Mr. Blake stepping out of his home office, rubbing the back of his neck like he'd been sitting for hours. His expression held a hint of weariness, but there was also something softer in his eyes—maybe relief at being away from his work, if only for a little while.

I blinked in surprise. It was rare to see him emerge from his workspace, especially when he got buried in projects. Most of the time, it felt like his job existed in some separate world, one that barely overlapped with ours. But tonight, on Thanksgiving, he had made his way to the table.

"Look who decided to join us!" Mrs. Blake teased, wiping her hands on her apron as she set down a tray of golden, fluffy rolls. Her eyes twinkled with amusement, though there was a clear note of appreciation in her voice.

Mr. Blake chuckled softly, rolling his stiff shoulders before making his way over. "Couldn't miss Thanksgiving dinner, could I?"

Lily and Sam grinned, and their faces practically lit up at the sight of their dad taking his seat with them for once. Sam, in particular, looked excited, shifting in his chair as if he wanted to say something but held back.

As Mr. Blake walked past, he ruffled Sam's hair in a familiar, affectionate gesture. Sam groaned in exaggerated protest, ducking away with an eye roll, but the way his lips twitched betrayed his amusement.

"Daaad," he whined dramatically, smoothing down his hair.

Lily giggled, shaking her head. "You should know by now that fighting it only makes him do it more."

Mr. Blake shot her a grin as he lowered himself into his chair. "It's true. It's in the Dad Handbook."

Sam huffed but couldn't hide his own grin as he reached for a bowl of mashed potatoes.

Dishes moved from hand to hand, conversation picked up, and laughter echoed through the room.

As the Blakes and their grandparents exchanged stories and laughter, I couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness. The room was alive with warmth, the golden glow of the chandelier reflecting off the polished wooden table, the scent of roasted turkey and cinnamon filling the air. They had this beautiful, noisy, loving family surrounding them, and I... I had no one. No parents, no siblings, no grandparents to visit on holidays. My heart felt emptier with each laugh and smile that echoed around me, each inside joke I didn't understand, each memory they reminisced about that I wasn't part of.

I tried to focus on the comforting parts of the evening—the flickering candlelight, the hum of conversation, the gentle clinking of silverware against plates—but the memories crept in anyway, uninvited and relentless. Thanksgiving with my mom had always been unpredictable. Some years, she'd put in the effort—cooking a small meal, lighting a few candles, acting as if we were just like any other family. But those moments were rare. More often than not, the holiday passed in a blur of arguments, empty promises, or silence so thick it felt suffocating. Some years, she was too distracted, too lost in her own world to notice the day at all. Other years, she wasn't even there.

I forced down a lump in my throat and took a sip of my water, hoping no one noticed the way my hands trembled slightly against the glass. But Mrs. Blake must have seen something in my face because she leaned over, her voice low so only I could hear.

"You okay, Emily?"

I nodded quickly, swallowing past the tightness in my throat. "Yeah, I'm fine."

She gave me a look that said she didn't quite believe me, but she didn't push. Instead, she reached out and gave my shoulder a gentle squeeze, the warmth of her touch grounding me in the present. It wasn't much, but it was enough to remind me that I wasn't invisible. That someone saw me.

A moment later, Lily tugged on my sleeve, her excitement practically vibrating off her. "Emily, guess what?"

"What?" I asked, trying to steady my voice, forcing myself to meet her bright eyes.

"Grandma says I can help her make cookies after dinner! You should help too."

I hesitated. Part of me wanted to retreat, to slip away from the table and curl up somewhere quiet where I didn't have to pretend I belonged. But another part—the part that had spent so many years longing for connection—wanted to say yes.

I managed a small smile. "Maybe."

Lily beamed, clearly pleased with herself, and turned back to her meal, chattering about what kinds of cookies they would make. Her enthusiasm was contagious, and for the first time that evening, the weight on my chest lightened just a little. Even though the ache of missing my own family hadn't disappeared, the Blakes' kindness wrapped around me like a soft blanket, reminding me that I wasn't as alone as I sometimes felt.

As the meal went on, the sounds of laughter and clinking silverware filled the room.

I chewed slowly, watching the way everyone interacted—the easy way Sam rolled his eyes at Lily's antics, how Mrs. Blake smiled warmly at their bickering, and the way Mr. Blake would chime in with a joke that made them all laugh. It was effortless for them, natural. They were a family, a real family, one that had been together for years, one that knew all the little inside jokes and unspoken rules that I hadn't been around long enough to learn.

"Try the green bean casserole," Mrs. Blake said, nudging my plate with a spoonful. "It's a family recipe."

I took a bite, surprised at how good it was. "This is amazing," I said, hoping my voice didn't sound as hollow as I felt.

She smiled, clearly pleased. "I'll teach you how to make it someday if you'd like."

I nodded, but something about the way she said someday made my stomach twist.

Lily, meanwhile, was attempting to stack her rolls into a makeshift pyramid, much to Sam's annoyance.

"Lily, stop messing around," he muttered. "You're going to knock everything over."

"No, I won't," she said, sticking her tongue out at him. "You're just mad because my pyramid's better than yours."

Mr. Blake chuckled, shaking his head. "Lily, eat your food before it gets cold."

"Lily," Mrs. Blake added, her voice gentle but firm, "eat your food, please."

Lily sighed dramatically but obeyed, stuffing a roll into her mouth as Sam smirked triumphantly.

I pushed my mashed potatoes around my plate, my appetite slowly fading. They were all comfortable here, in their home, in their roles. But what was I? I wasn't family, not really. Not like Sam and Lily were. I was just here, sitting at their table, eating their food, living in a house that would never really be mine.

Mrs. Blake had said she'd teach me the recipe. But would it really be my family recipe? Or would I always be the one on the outside looking in?

A lump formed in my throat, and I dropped my gaze to my plate. No one seemed to notice how quiet I'd gotten, too wrapped up in their own conversations and jokes.

I swallowed hard and forced a small smile, even though the food suddenly tasted like nothing at all.

When dinner finally wound down, the table was a mess of crumbs and half-empty dishes, everyone too full to move. The rich scents of roasted turkey and warm spices still lingered in the air, mingling with the faint smokiness from the wood-burning stove. Laughter had softened into content murmurs as the family leaned back in their chairs, basking in the afterglow of a feast well-enjoyed. But when Mrs. Blake brought out the pies, Lily perked up immediately, her tiredness vanishing in an instant.

"Pumpkin first!" she declared, her plate already waiting, her eyes wide with anticipation.

"Save room for apple," Sam said, reaching for the pecan with a knowing smirk.

The pies were just as good as the rest of the meal—the flaky, golden crusts giving way to smooth, spiced fillings that melted on my tongue. Each bite was like a warm embrace, the perfect ending to the evening. The room buzzed with the quiet clinking of forks against plates, occasional murmurs of appreciation drifting through the air. I savored my last bites, letting the warmth of the food and the laughter around me settle into my bones.

Soon, the kitchen had quieted, the hum of activity fading as dishes were stacked in the sink and leftovers were tucked away in the fridge. The smell of Thanksgiving still lingered—a mixture of roasted turkey, cinnamon, and butter that made the house feel alive. The warmth from the oven had faded, replaced by the soft glow of the oil lamps, casting long shadows on the walls. The air was still, heavy with the kind of exhaustion that only comes after a long, full day.

Mrs. Blake had just finished wiping down the counters when she turned to me with a warm smile. "Want to sit for a bit, Emily? I think we've earned it."

I nodded, following her into the living room. The couch was soft and inviting, and I sank into it, feeling the weight of the day settle over me. The fire crackled gently in the hearth, filling the space with a comforting warmth.

Mrs. Blake sat beside me, her gaze gentle but searching. "You've been quiet today," she said softly. "More than usual. Is something on your mind?"

I hesitated, fiddling with the hem of my sweater, the fabric rough beneath my fingertips. "It's just... hard," I admitted finally, my voice small. "Thanksgiving. Seeing everyone together like that. It's wonderful, but it also makes me think about what I don't have."

Mrs. Blake didn't rush to fill the silence, giving me space to find my words.

"I don't have grandparents like Lily and Sam do," I said, my voice trembling. "I don't have a mom or a dad anymore. I don't have anyone that's... really mine. And I know I'm lucky to be here, but sometimes I just feel... so sad."

Tears welled in my eyes before I could stop them, and I blinked quickly, embarrassed. "I'm sorry," I mumbled. "I don't mean to ruin anything."

Mrs. Blake reached out, placing a warm, steady hand over mine. "You're not ruining anything, Emily," she said gently. "It's okay to feel that way. You've been through so much, and it's natural to grieve what you've lost."

Her kindness settled over me like a blanket, but it didn't stop the ache in my chest. "I just miss them," I whispered. "Even when things were bad... they were still my family."

Mrs. Blake nodded, her expression thoughtful. "I understand," she said softly. "And I can't replace what you've lost, Emily. No one can. But I want you to know something—you do have family. Right here."

I looked at her, confused. "What do you mean?"

She smiled, a warmth in her eyes that felt like sunlight breaking through clouds. "You're part of this family now. It's not just about blood, Emily. It's about love, about showing up for each other, and about making space for someone when they need it most. And we've made space for you."

Her words hung in the air, filling the quiet with something I couldn't quite name. "But... do they feel the same way?" I asked hesitantly. "Lily, Sam, even Mr. Blake?"

Mrs. Blake squeezed my hand. "Let's find out."

She stood, motioning for me to follow her back into the dining room. The others were still there, chatting and picking at slices of leftover pie. The warmth of the room pressed in around me, making me feel small and uncertain. Mrs. Blake cleared her throat, and the room fell silent as all eyes turned to us.

"Emily and I were just talking," she began, her tone warm but firm. "And I want to say something, as a family."

I froze, my heart pounding in my chest.

"Emily's been through so much," Mrs. Blake continued. "And I think it's important that she knows she's not alone. That she's part of this family, in every way that matters."

Lily's eyes lit up, and she practically jumped out of her chair. "Of course she's family!" she said, running over to hug me tight. "You're like my big sister!"

Sam, ever the calm one, nodded. "Yeah, obviously," he said, like it was the most natural thing in the world. "You live here. You're stuck with us."

Even Mr. Blake, usually quiet, gave a small smile. "Family's about more than where you come from," he said simply. "It's about where you are now. And right now, you're here with us."

The lump in my throat grew as I looked around the room. Their faces were so full of warmth and acceptance that it almost didn't feel real. For the first time in a long time, I felt like I wasn't just a guest or an outsider—I was part of something bigger.

"Thank you," I said quietly, my voice barely above a whisper. "That means a lot."

"It's the truth," Mrs. Blake said, wrapping an arm around my shoulder. "You're one of us now, Emily. And we're not going anywhere."

As I sat there, surrounded by their smiles and laughter, the sadness in my chest didn't disappear completely, but it softened.

That night, as I lay in my room, I opened my journal. The emotions from dinner swirled inside me, too heavy to keep bottled up. With a deep breath, I pressed my pen to the page and began to write.

**Thanksgiving. A day about family. Togetherness. Love. But when you don't have a real family anymore, what's left?**

I stopped writing, staring at the words, the ink looking too dark on the page. My hand shook a little, but I kept going.

**I kept smiling at dinner. Kept saying 'thank you' like I was supposed to. But inside, I felt like something was missing. Like I was just playing a part, sitting at a table that wasn't really mine. The food was good, the laughter was nice, but it wasn't my mama's cooking. It wasn't Papa's chair creaking as he leaned back too far, or Mama shaking her head, telling him he'd fall over one day. It wasn't the same.**

I pressed my lips together, willing myself not to cry. But the words poured out anyway, ink smearing just slightly where my hand trembled.

**I tried to push it down, the sadness, the loneliness. I didn't want Mrs. Blake to see, or Sam, or Lily. They were all so happy, so full, like Thanksgiving was supposed to be. And I was happy too, in a way. Being with them felt good. It felt... safe. But it also reminded me of what I lost. A family that isn't here anymore. A home that doesn't belong to me now. I can laugh with them, I can eat with them, but deep down, I still feel like I don't belong.**

I wiped at my eyes, frustrated that they were burning.

**Maybe this is what my Thanksgivings will be now. Sitting at a table that isn't mine, trying to feel full even though something inside me is empty. Maybe one day, that emptiness won't feel so big. Maybe one day, I'll stop looking for Mama and Papa in every little thing. But not today.**

I paused, gripping my pen tighter.

**Still... I'm thankful. For the Blakes, for a place to sleep, for people who care. I know they do. And maybe that's enough. At least for now.**

I closed my journal and set it on my nightstand, letting out a shaky breath. My heart still felt heavy, but at least now, it wasn't trapped inside.