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The first meal in the new house was pizza delivery.

Nothing fancy. Just two large pizzas in greasy cardboard boxes, a couple of plastic bags with soda bottles clinking around, and one small paper plate that folded under the weight of my slice like it was waving the white flag.

Mom didn't have her kitchen stuff unpacked yet. I think she found the forks, but not the plates. Or the bowls. Or the toaster.

"Don't judge me," she said, handing out napkins like they were gold. "This is what survival looks like."

No one complained.

We all sat cross-legged on the living room floor, surrounded by half-unpacked boxes and crumpled packing paper, eating pizza straight out of the box like it was a holiday.

"I call this the 'cardboard gourmet experience,'" Dad said, taking a huge bite. "Fine dining for the emotionally exhausted."

Lily had cheese grease on her chin and three slices on her plate like she was preparing for battle.

"I still think we should've gotten stuffed crust," Sam muttered.

Mom raised a brow. "You're welcome to cook next time, Chef Sam."

He went silent.

I took a bite of my slice—pineapple and black olives.

It wasn't what most people would call a "celebration dinner."

But it felt right.

After dinner, I helped Mom dig through the mountain of mismatched boxes labeled "Kitchen", "Breakables", and "Not This One."

Most of them were taped shut like someone thought raccoons were going to rob us mid-move.

"We should've just numbered these," Mom muttered, halfway inside a box. "Or used, I don't know, literally any system."

"You mean your 'organized chaos' strategy isn't working?" I teased.

She pulled out a bundle of dishtowels and tossed one at me. "It was organized. Until the movers started stacking everything like Tetris blocks on caffeine."

I smiled and unwrapped a stack of mismatched mugs, lining them up on the counter one by one. Some were chipped, a few still had dried cocoa stains from February, but they looked right sitting there. Like they belonged.

Little by little, we made progress.

Plates found their cabinet. Silverware slid into the drawer with that satisfying rattle. Pots and pans filled the lower shelves, and the toaster finally emerged from a box that had been labeled "Lily's Art Stuff" for some reason.

"I think we're getting somewhere," Mom said, stretching her back and wiping sweat from her forehead with the same dishtowel she handed me earlier. "Maybe by tomorrow we can make actual food."

"Like what?" I asked, closing the last cabinet.

She smirked. "Something wildly overcomplicated that uses every pan we own, obviously."

I rolled my eyes. "As long as it's not pork ribs. The baby is still holding a grudge."

Mom laughed.

Just as Mom and I were finishing up with the last cabinet, Sam came down the stairs carrying a box almost as big as he was.

"Where do you want this one?" he asked, setting it down with a loud thud right by the kitchen island.

I looked at the label scrawled in black marker.

Sam's Room.

I raised an eyebrow. "You realize this says Sam's Room, right?"

He blinked, confused. "Yeah...?"

I opened the top flap and froze.

Cereal boxes, Canned soup, Pasta, Microwave rice, Peanut butter, Crackers, Snack bars, Microwave mac and cheese, Trail mix, A box of cookies...

"...um, this is for the pantry," I said.

"I told you," Sam said, exasperated. "Why would I have six cans of diced tomatoes and four jars of pickles in my room?"

Mom walked over and took one look inside the box, then smacked her forehead with her palm. "Oh nooo..."

"What?" I asked.

"That one was supposed to go in the kitchen," she groaned. "I must've mislabeled it when I was rushing to pack. I was writing fast and... well. Everything was 'Sam's Room' after a while."

"So I've been living with emergency soup for two days," Sam muttered.

Mom laughed as she started unloading the box onto the pantry shelves. "Well, mystery solved. You're not a closet food hoarder."

"I'm relieved," I said. "For a second I thought we needed an intervention."

Sam rolled his eyes and wandered back upstairs, muttering something about "snack-related slander."

It was still early enough in the day, and I wasn't tired yet, so I figured I'd keep going.

"Okay," I muttered to myself, "living room next."

Which would've been a great plan... if I could find it.

I took a left from the kitchen, walked down a hallway that led to a laundry room. Doubled back. Took another turn and ended up in some sort of formal sitting area that looked like it hadn't been used since 1994.

Finally—finally—I walked through an arched doorway and froze.

"Oh. There it is."

The living room wasn't just big.
It was massive.

High ceilings. Two full walls of windows. A fireplace that looked like it belonged in a ski lodge. Built-in shelves. A giant empty space in the center where a rug would probably go... if we owned one big enough.

"I thought the kitchen was big," I whispered.

Boxes were scattered around the edges of the room, most labeled in Mom's rushed handwriting—Living Room, Decorations, Games, Cords (??? do not open).

Sam walked in behind me holding two couch cushions and a confused expression. "This is the living room? I thought this was, like, the community center or something."

"I got lost twice trying to find it," I said.

He dropped the cushions on the floor and looked around. "Where's the actual couch?"

Mom called from somewhere down the hall, "Check the garage! It didn't fit through the side door."

"I feel like we need a map just to live here," I muttered.

Sam gave me a look. "Bet you five bucks Lily gets lost trying to find the bathroom."

"I'm not taking that bet. She already did."

Sam and I started dragging boxes into the center of the room, forming a kind of cardboard mountain around the spot where the couch should go.

"Found the game console!" Sam called, holding up a tangle of cords like it was a prize.

"Cool," I said. "Too bad we don't know where the TV is."

"Maybe it's in that mystery box labeled 'Cords (??? do not open)'?"

I gave him a look. "You open it first."

Before he could respond, Mom came in, balancing two more boxes in her arms and already looking overwhelmed.

"This room is enormous," she said, setting the boxes down with a thud. "I'm convinced this house was designed by someone with a personal grudge against vacuuming."

"I think we're in the ballroom," Sam said seriously.

Mom just sighed. "Did you find the couch yet?"

Dad walked in next, holding one end of said couch. "Speak of the devil."

"Wait, you carried it in by yourself?" I asked.

"Garage door," he grunted. "Straight through. I may never walk again."

Lily burst in right after him, dragging one small box and a stuffed unicorn under her arm. "I got lost twice! Also, why is this house bigger than my school?"

Sam pointed dramatically. "Pay up, Emily."

I groaned. "Unbelievable."

The rest of the hour was spent assembling furniture, unpacking random throw blankets, and trying to figure out what half the remotes even went to.

At one point, Mom found a wrapped snow globe in a box labeled "Board Games". Dad discovered an entire stack of holiday decorations from two years ago inside something labeled "Living Room Essentials."

Lily got distracted setting up a mini tea party for her unicorn.

And Sam nearly impaled himself trying to set up the TV stand.

But by the end of it—couch assembled, rug in place, random candles on the shelf, and one extension cord dangerously overworked—the room felt a little less like a stranger.

And a little more like home.

Once we had the couch in place and most of the boxes pushed out of the way, I plopped down onto the cushions and looked around.

Something still felt... off.

Not bad. Just... different.

"Hey," I said, looking over at Dad, who was adjusting the leaning floor lamp for the third time. "Why does this house look nothing like the model we toured?"

He paused, squinting at the lamp, then turned to me. "Yeah, I've been wondering that too."

"So it's not just me?"

"Nope. I mean, same general layout, sure. But the rooms are way bigger. And there are, like... entire hallways here that didn't exist in the model."

Sam popped up from behind a stack of throw pillows. "We got the secret deluxe edition house."

"I didn't even see a third floor on the tour," I added. "Or the extra dining room. Or that weird little reading nook by the stairs that looks like it came straight out of a Pinterest board."

Dad shrugged and dropped onto the armrest with a soft sigh. "Apparently, the model is just... smaller. On purpose."

Mom blinked. "Why would they do that?"

"No idea," Dad said, shaking his head. "Maybe they want you to think the real thing is bigger so you feel like you're getting more than you paid for."

"Or they just enjoy confusing people," I muttered.

"Mission accomplished," Sam said, flipping through a book.

We all just sat there for a second, looking around the room again—tall ceilings, wide windows, extra space everywhere.

We still didn't have everything unpacked.
There were still cords without homes and chairs that needed assembling.

But honestly?

It didn't matter.

We had room to breathe now.
Room to grow.
Room for me.

And even if it looked nothing like the model...

It already felt more like home.

Later that night, once the living room chaos had settled and everyone had scattered—Lily to her tea party, Sam to the couch with three remotes and no idea how any of them worked—I climbed the stairs to my new room.

I flopped down on my mattress, grabbed my phone, and opened our group chat.

The screen lit up with unread messages from Jasmine and Mia. Mostly memes. One was a blurry selfie of Mia holding a fork with the caption "Dinner of champions" and a paper plate with cold spaghetti on it.

I smiled.

Then I typed:

Me:

Hey! Just finished setting up some stuff in the newplace. It's still kind of a mess, but at least I found my bed and aworking bathroom. So we're calling it a win.

A few seconds passed.

Jasmine:

Is the place haunted? That's all I care about.

Mia:

What's the snack situation tho?

Me:

No ghosts yet. I'll let you know if the sink growls atme.
Also... we may or may not have had pizza for dinner. Andthere may or may not be cookies hidden in one of the kitchen boxes.

Mia:

I'm bringing juice boxes. And zero judgment.

Jasmine:

We're still coming over tomorrow, right?

Me:

Yep. Just text when you're on the way.

I stared at the screen for a moment, thumb hovering over the keyboard.
I almost typed "Wait until you see the place."
But I deleted it.

Let them be surprised.

Mia:

Okay but real talk... are we allowed to bring snacks orare we still on witness protection level "no outsiders shall touchthe fridge"?

Me:

You can bring snacks. But only if you promise not tojudge how weird my cravings have gotten.

Jasmine:

She dipped a fish stick in pudding once. NOTHING shocksme anymore.

Me:

It was custard. And it was a moment.

Mia:

Oh good, I'll bring pickles and caramel popcorn. We'lllet the baby decide.

Me:

Bold of you to assume the baby won't demand both at once.

Jasmine:

What time should we come by?

Me:

After lunch? That'll give me time to make the placelook less like a tornado hit a cardboard factory.

Mia:

Got it. No promises I won't wear pajamas.

Jasmine:

If you're in pajamas, I'm wearing my dinosaur onesie.

Me:

Honestly? Do it. New house, new rules.

Mia:

We're gonna break it in properly.

I grinned at the screen.

It wasn't just that they were coming over.

It was that they still wanted to.

Even after everything.
Even after the chaos.
Even after I changed.

They never left.