Now it's been rebranded. Expanded. Made bigger and shinier.
I wonder if it would still feel the same—or if I’d ruin it just by showing up.
I don't click.
I sit on the edge of the bed in the guest room and let the phone buzz in my hand until it stops on its own.
My suite is nice.
Too nice to feel temporary, too impersonal to feel claimed.
Neutral walls in dove gray. Thoughtful lighting that adjusts to the time of day. A window overlooking the grounds that probably costs more than my old apartment. Hotel-perfect, but without the freedom to leave tomorrow.
My suitcases are stacked in the corner where I left them last night.
I planned to live out of them until further notice. One bag for essentials. One for everything else. Keep it contained. Keep it reversible.
That was the idea.
But my plans seem to be unimportant.
Because as soon as I leave my room, staff go in after me.
I come back twenty minutes later—just to grab my charger—and freeze in the doorway.
The bed's been made. Covers pulled tight, pillows arranged with mathematical precision.
My suitcases are open, though I didn't open them.
Two women in crisp uniforms are lifting my clothes out one by one, shaking them gently, hanging them in the walk-in closet with careful hands.
"Oh," I say, startled. "You don't have to—"
"It's no trouble, Mrs. Dupree," one of them says without looking up.
Mrs. Dupree.
The name sits wrong in my mouth. Like borrowed shoes that don't quite fit.
I watch from the doorway as my clothes are lifted out one by one. Hung precisely. Color-coordinated. Like artifacts instead of choices.
Neither of them waits for my response.
My sparkly pink hoodie—the one I wore to the café, the one that made me feel like myself—gets folded and placed on a shelf instead of hung. Too casual, maybe. Too loud for this house.
I want to say something. To tell them I can do this myself. That I don't need help unpacking.
But I don't.
Because maybe this is just how things work here.
Maybe I’m meant to adjust.
***
Staff move in and out with quiet feet.
They're polite. Professional. No one makes eye contact longer than necessary.
