Laughter drifts up from the playroom downstairs. My hands slow against the plastic as I look down at it. This black trash bag now holds everything I own. I pinch my eyebrows together, staring at it.

That’s it?

I look around the room. Paige’s things sit neatly where they belong. Clothes folded in drawers she gets to call her own. Toys resting peacefully on her pillow, like the bed belongs to them—like it belongs to her.

Then I look at mine. As neat as I could make it.

It’s hard to make a bed when it’s the top bunk.

I turn back for one last look. I manage a smile, a tremor in my lips.

I glance up at the top of the door. The alarm.

My greatest challenge in this house.

My smile widens.

I’ve beat it.

I tie the bag tight and check it once more. I lift it—

and stumble back a step.

It’s lighter than I expect.

That’s right.

This is all there is.

I walk to the door and wrap my hand around the handle. My hands are clammy.

I take a breath.

For a second, I don’t move.

Then I open the door.

And step out of the best room I’ve ever had.

The hallway opens into the small living area between our rooms. The couch. The table. Everything exactly where it’s always been.

The cushion dips when I brush past it.

Whispers. Stifled laughs. All of us pressed close.

I showed him first.

My heart pounding, slipping past the alarm just to meet him in the common room. Nothing happened. We just sat there, talking like we weren’t supposed to be anywhere else.

The next night, we told the others.

I turn toward the stairs—my favorite part of the house. They spiral down to the first floor, the kind you’d only see in movies. A warm brown handrail, white spindles underneath.

I take the first step. Then the next.

I walk slowly.

I won’t see these stairs again.

Halfway down, I slow even more—out of habit.

It’s daytime.

I keep going.

By the time I reach the bottom, it’s close to lunch. Voices carry from the playroom, louder now.

I pass through the kitchen. Aunt Mary and Uncle Glen stand at the counter, lining up sandwiches.

I go straight to her. Wrap my arms around her as tight as I can.

I try to smile when I pull back.

She brushes my hair from my face, like she always does.

“Don’t be scared,” she says softly. “This next season… it’s going to be your greatest blessing yet.”

She kisses my forehead.

“Go play. We’ll holler when lunch is ready,” Uncle Glen says, with a wink.

I race toward the playroom.

It’s already loud when I step in.

Couches pushed together near the TV, Hannah Montana playing quietly in the background.

Off to the side, the train table—tracks half built, cars scattered across the rug with roads printed into it. Someone’s left the racetrack set up, one car still spinning slowly.

A computer sits in the corner by the door, the kind with the big, boxy monitor.

Across from it, the Lego table—piled high, pieces spilling over the edges.

Everything exactly where it’s always been.

Like I’m not leaving.

Barry laughs from the couch.

Jessica and Hannah are at the Lego table, stacking pieces higher and higher.

“Alyssa!”

I turn, expecting to see Jasmine—

but she’s not there. She hasn’t been for a while now.

One second Paige is at the desk—

the next she’s squeezing me in a tight hug.

I hug her back just as tight.

I hold on a second longer than I should.

She doesn’t let go right away.

“You’ll be back, right?” she asks quietly.

I nod.

I don’t know if that’s true.

She lets go, finally. I nod toward the couch.

Hannah Montana is still playing. One of my favorite episodes.

I sit beside Barry.

Paige follows, settling in next to me without saying anything. She leans into me slightly. The laugh track fills the room.

We watch like we always do.

For a little while, nothing feels different.

Almost.

“LUNCH TIME!”

We all pause for a second.

Then we’re up, racing out of the playroom and into the dining room.

We have assigned seats, but we still make a game of who can get there first.

We all settle into our seats, slightly out of breath, some of us giggling.

A beat later, Aunt Mary and Uncle Glen sit at the ends of the table.

“Let’s pray,” Uncle Glen says.

We join hands and bow our heads.

“Thank you for the meal we are about to receive, and let it nourish our bodies…”

He pauses.

I glance up.

He’s already looking at me.

He gives me a soft smile.

I lower my head again, eyes closing a little tighter than before.

“And thank you, Lord, for Alyssa. May you guide her and protect her as she steps into this next journey. Amen.”

“Amen,” we say together.

Then we dig in.

It’s quiet as we eat—almost deafening. I start to fidget in my seat.

“I’m going to beat you next time,” Jessica says, pointing her fork at Hannah.

“You wish.”

A few of us laugh, and the quiet fades.

Uncle Glen clears his throat.

“Alright,” he says. “Let’s talk about the rest of the day.”

He looks around the table.

“So, who wants to go first?” Aunt Mary asks.

“I’ll go,” Barry says.

“I want to beat Uncle Don in Mario Kart.”

“You say that every day, Barry,” Hannah teases.

“And I almost did it, too!” he shoots back.

Jessica goes next.

“I’m finishing the Lego tower,” she says.

“We’ll see,” Hannah mutters.

A few of us laugh.

I look around the table, not saying anything.

Uncle Glen and Aunt Mary nod along, smiling like everything’s normal. Barry’s talking about Henry being sick—how he’s the only boy at the table today.

Hannah and Jessica sit on opposite sides now.

They didn’t used to.

Aunt Mary and Uncle Glen made them switch a while ago—said it would help them branch out, talk to the other kids more.

It worked.

I guess.

I look to my left at Paige. She’s quiet.

I look down at her plate. One bite missing from the sandwich. Her fork is clean—the coleslaw untouched.

Paige catches me looking and says, “I’m just not that hungry today.”

She glances at Uncle Glen and Aunt Mary. Then leans closer.

“Do you want my sandwich?”

I hesitate for a second.

I glance at Aunt Mary. Uncle Glen.

We’re not supposed to share.

Then back to Paige and nod.

“Just a bite.”

She slips it to me under the table.

I don’t look down. I take a quick bite and pass it back.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

Paige takes one more bite. Then she’s done.

Aunt Mary stands and walks to the locked fridge, returning with a pitcher of lemonade. She pours, moving down the table.

When she gets to Paige, she reaches past her and takes her cup.

A moment later, she returns it—filled with water.

She sits back down. She doesn’t say anything.

Paige keeps her eyes on her plate.

She knew.

“Alyssa?”

I look up. Everyone’s already looking at me.

Heat rises to my face. My fork hovers over my plate.

Uncle Glen tilts his head slightly.

“Your plan for today?”

I take a beat, then respond, “Umm… I already packed my stuff. I think I just want to play four square one more time.” My voice comes out quieter than I expect.

“That’s a wonderful idea, Alyssa,” Uncle Glen says. “We can do just that, right after we finish eating.”

I smile and nod, swallowing my last bite.

“Wait, don’t we usually have quiet time after lunch?” Barry asks.

“Yes,” Aunt Mary says.

“But since Alyssa is leaving soon after lunch, we can play one last time with her, right?”

No one argues.

That almost feels stranger than anything else today.

Normally, someone would complain.

But no one does.

We finish eating. Chairs scrape against the floor as we stand, one by one, carrying our plates to the sink.

The routine moves like it always does—just softer.

Quieter.

Like everyone’s aware of something we’re not saying out loud.

Uncle Glen claps his hands once.

“Alright, let’s head outside.”

The front door opens, and warm air rushes in. It smells like summer—fresh-cut grass, sun-warmed pavement.

The four square court is already set, faded chalk lines cracking against the concrete.

Same as always.

For a second, it feels like any other day.

Like I’m not leaving.

Like this isn’t the last time.

“I call first serve!” Barry shouts.

“You always call first!” Hannah argues.

The ball hits the pavement—hard.

A whistle blows.

The game starts.

And just like that—

everything feels normal again.

We play for about an hour, then head inside for quiet time.

I pick up a book in the family room.

I’ve always liked this room, especially the piano.

One day, I’ll be a great piano player.

I set my book down and walk to the windows overlooking the backyard.

I smile, remembering my first Christmas here—when Santa came in a helicopter and landed in our backyard. I remember how amazed I was that he would visit us, of all people, in an actual helicopter.

We all got turns to sit with him, telling him our greatest wishes.

Me? I wished for a family that would keep me forever.

I wished I wouldn’t have to switch homes again.

The door bell cuts through the memory.

I race to the door, already knowing who’s on the other side. I wait until Aunt Mary comes—since we’re not allowed to answer it alone.

She opens the door.

And there they are.

My real aunt and uncle.

I step behind Aunt Mary, suddenly very aware of how small I feel.

Aunt Hazel bends down so we’re looking eye to eye.

“Hi, sweetie.”

I take a small a step around Aunt Mary, still feeling shy.

“Hi,” I say quietly.

Uncle Jose stands beside her, silent. That isn’t unusual. He’s a man of few words—unless you bring up something he likes, like cars or trains.

“Her things are packed right in here. You can come inside, if you like.” Aunt Mary says.

Aunt Hazel and Uncle Jose step in, and the door closes behind them.

“I’ll be right back,” I tell them.

Quiet time is over now. I run back to the playroom.

Paige is helping Jessica and Hannah build their tower. I go straight to her and wrap my arms around her.

She hugs me back just as tight—and doesn’t let go.

Hannah and Jessica join in. Then Barry,

“I’m going to miss you guys so much,” I say, my voice shaking.

We pull apart slowly.

Paige looks at me, tears running down her face.

“This isn’t fair. Please don’t leave,” she says.

“I have to,” I say.

“This is exactly what I asked Santa for.”

She nods.

“You’re moving to Jersey, right? That’s way better than being around farms and stinky manure everywhere,” Barry chimes in.

“Yeah, I guess it is pretty cool, huh?” I respond.

Paige hugs me one more time.

“You’ll always be my best friend,” she whispers. “Please come visit soon.”

“I will,” I whisper back.

I walk toward the exit of the playroom and look back once more.

Paige, Hannah, Jessica, and Barry stand side by side, arms around each other, watching me go.

It reminds me of months ago—when I stood with them, watching Jasmine leave.

I give them a small smile and a wave, then turn toward the front door.

Aunt Hazel, Uncle Jose, Aunt Mary, and Uncle Glen are waiting, my bag in his hands.

I run to Aunt Mary first and wrap my arms around her as tight as I can.

“I’ll miss you too,” she says, like she already knows.

Uncle Glen pulls me into a side hug.

“You’re really special, kiddo,” he says.

“Now, go and have fun. We’ll be okay here.”

“You promise?” I ask.

“I promise. Your forever home is waiting. Don’t make it wait too long, kiddo.”

I hug him one last time.

He hands my bag to Uncle Jose, and they walk us out to the car.

My Uncle opens the trunk, looks at the bag, and shakes his head slightly.

He sets it inside and closes it.

I climb into my seat. My aunt straps me in.

My Uncle gets behind the wheel. My aunt settles beside him.

The car turns down the long driveway.

I look back at the house I’ve known for a year.

They’re all gathered at the end of the driveway, waving.

I keep looking.

I keep waving.

Until I can’t see them anymore.

I face forward.

My wish came true.

Not advice. Not lessons. Just… something that feels familiar.

I came on this app to help other writers with their writing. But then I found that it felt way more natural to write about my journey instead. There are so many of us who are in the same boat, but we isolate ourselves in our respective places.

And I think that’s because a lot of us are in the same place right now…

Showing up consistently at something that no one is really paying attention to yet.

You start questioning everything:

If you’re wasting your time,

If you’re talking to no one,

If maybe the silence means something you don’t want it to mean.

You check the numbers more than you want to admit.

You reread what you wrote and wonder if it’s even good.

And then the next day… You show up again anyway.

And I’m starting to realize this isn’t a phase to rush through.

This is the work.

No audience. No momentum.

Just repetition.

Not because it’s working—but because you’ve decided this is who you are.

I’ve seen so many articles and notes about how to proactively be successful — what to do, what to say, how to grow. And that’s helpful.

But I’m starting to realize that’s not what I’m here to do.

I’m not here to give advice.

I’m here to share what this actually feels like while it’s happening.

To be in it… with people who are in it too.

Because this part… It’s not easy.

I think that’s what this phase actually is.

And I think this is the part no one really prepares you for. Because I know you’ve felt it too. Not knowing if you want to continue, or if it’s even worth continuing.

Sometimes it feels like we’re screaming into the void — our voices echoing back to us, with no one really listening.

This is the part where it gets really hard to trust what you’re doing.

Because there’s no clear feedback. No real proof that it’s working.

Just you—deciding to keep going anyway.

Maybe that’s enough.

Not proof. Not validation. Just the decision to keep going.

Like a lotus, we grow from murky beginnings. Not the part people see—but the part that makes it possible.

So this is where it starts.

The Becoming.

Not the polished version. Not the highlight reel.

Just this part—the one no one really talks about.

But somewhere along the way, it stopped feeling like something I was creating from scratch. It started to feel like I was uncovering something that was already there. And the more I’ve sat with it, the more I’ve realized there’s a deeper structure underneath everything.

The first few weeks of working on Unveiled, I did not focus on writing dialogue or even plotting at that point. The first few weeks I spent focused on world-building and lore. I tried to just start writing in the beginning, and I found myself staring at a blank screen, not knowing where to even start.

But as I kept building the world, I started to notice patterns. Not fully formed ideas, but pieces that seemed to connect back to something deeper.

It wasn’t obvious at first. It felt more like fragments than a system. But the more I paid attention, the more it felt like everything was pointing back to the same underlying structure.

I haven’t fully explained that part yet, and I don’t think I’m supposed to. Some things feel like they need to be discovered inside the story, not laid out beforehand.

The story itself is called The Marked Covenant. And even that name didn’t come to me all at once. It took time before it felt like it actually fit what I was building.

The first book is called Unveiled.

And I think that word ended up meaning more than I expected. Because the story isn’t just about what’s happening on the surface. It’s about what’s being revealed underneath it. What was always there, but hidden. What looks true, but isn’t. And what refuses to stay buried.

This is a story about truth and deception. It’s about what happens when you lose someone you thought you’d always have. It’s about realizing that everything you’ve known might not be as solid as it once felt.

It’s about what happens when people are forced to choose between what’s easy to believe and what is actually true. And when everything begins to fall apart, who are you when the illusion is gone?

The Marked Covenant is my first real passion project, and each character holds a piece of me.

At the end of the day, my goal isn’t to reach a massive audience. I just want it to resonate. Even if it only reaches one person…

That would be enough.

This is why I finally decided to tell it

Hi, I’m Alyssa.

I’ve loved stories for as long as I can remember, but it really started for me in middle school.

The first big chapter book I ever read was Inkheart, and something about it just stuck with me. After that, I fell headfirst into books like Twilight, The Hunger Games, Eragon, and The Fallen series. I wasn’t just reading them, I was living in them.

Stories became more than entertainment for me. They became an escape, a comfort, and honestly, a way to feel things I didn’t always know how to process in real life.

Writing came naturally to me, but for a long time it stayed in a box. It was academic papers, assignments, journaling. I never really let myself go beyond that.

But the story I’m writing now has been sitting with me for about a year.

I didn’t start writing it right away because I think part of me knew this one was different.

This story holds pieces of me I didn’t know how to say out loud.

The things I’ve been through, the pain I’ve carried, and the growth that came after it all, it’s woven into every part of what I’m creating. It shows up in my characters, in their struggles, in the choices they make, and in the way they fight to keep going.

I’m not just writing a fantasy or romantasy story.

I’m writing real emotions into a world that isn’t real.

Because stories have always done that for me.

They’ve made me feel seen. They’ve helped me process things I didn’t have words for yet. They’ve reminded me that even in the darkest moments, there’s still meaning, still growth, still hope.

And I think that’s why I finally started writing this.

Because your story matters.

The things you’ve been through matter. The way you feel matters. The healing matters.

And if I can create something that makes even one person feel understood the way books made me feel understood, then it’s worth it.

I proofread and lightly edit romance, fantasy, and romantasy stories—focusing on clarity, flow, and emotional impact.

If you’ve ever felt like:

• “This scene isn’t hitting the way I want”

• “The dialogue feels off but I can’t tell why”

• “Something feels messy but I don’t know how to fix it”

That’s where I come in.

I help you polish your writing without losing your voice—so your story feels as powerful on the page as it does in your head.

📩 If you’d like help with your writing, feel free to reach out or reply to this post ✨