Work Text:
She wants home.
Not this, not a little room in a stranger’s house that will never be her home.
It can’t be home, not without her Mama’s singing carrying through the house, or Mom to help her with her hair, or lazy Sunday morning breakfasts, or having to stop for each of them to kiss her on the cheek as she ran out the door to school.
It’s not home without the neighbor’s little kids chasing each other around, screaming and shrieking, or opening the door and hearing “querida? Is that you?”, sometimes from two different parts of the house.
This can’t be home, not without Mama’s baking or Mom’s silly messages around lunchtime, or being able to raid their closet when they were out.
This isn’t home, but what she wants doesn’t exist anymore, so why does it hurt?