The Night Before We Moved Out

The final crazy story happened the night before we moved out. It was around 11

p.m. I was laying in bed, scrolling TikTok, surrounded by boxes and bare walls.

Everything we owned was already packed. The house felt hollow—like a shell of the place we once called home.

Despite everything that had happened, it was a bittersweet moment. We were relieved

to be leaving. Escaping what we jokingly—but not really jokingly—called Afghanistan,

Pennsylvania. But at the same time, we loved the house itself.

The massive kitchen with brand-new appliances. The freshly renovated interior. The family room

we had turned into our safe space. After the first shooting, we moved everything