Daniel's Home Oct. 10.

For once in the past few days, Daniel did not stumble up the stairs. Instead he slowly made his way up the 2nd floor deck.
The floor below belonged to Bella Herrera, where she spent most of her day fulfilling appointments for one-on-one therapy. It was late, she was probably home by now.
He paused at the heavy wooden door. Taking deep breaths and getting a control on what he was brining into his home.
 
Their mom made a point to emphasize 'You don't need to leave your problems at the door, but if you do, be prepared to talk about them.' To the family 'talking' meant sitting down with their mom and working out what was going on in their head, she wouldn't push them to answer, she never pushed them. Often time Daniel would walk through the door, go upstairs to his room lock the door, and play some music. That was what he would do, how he handled things, until recently.
 
Today, like everything else for him recently was different. He walked in and took a look around the living room.
 
Daniel had his own opinions on aesthetic, their mom had very strong opinions on aesthetic. It was rustic without being obnoxious. The living room opened up the room to a place that fit a couch, dining table, a TV and decorations that fit plenty of pictures. Some were of the Herrera's, but others were shots depicting a variety of places, some in Sunset City, some outside of the country. Things weren't necessarily tidy, but it felt lived in.
At the back left of the living room, it lead to the kitchen, granite countertops and oak cabinets that even had an island. The fridge was old looking, but clean, it also had a number of magnets on it that along with the other decorations in the room, clashed with the overall look. On the right is a staircase that leads to the bedrooms.
 
It's comforting, but it's not his home.
 
"Dani!" a small voice calls out to him from the couch. It's his little brother, now no longer focused on his handheld console.
"You're back late chiquito," a calm voice calls out from the kitchen. His mom has the fridge open and is looking past the door.
 
That was home.
 
"Ay welcome back loser!" came a third voice from up the stairs.
 
Even that.