Braised pork shoulder. Sweet-and-sour sea bass. Mushroom chicken stew. The whole apartment smelled incredible.
On the kitchen counter, shoved into the corner, sat a blackened aluminum lunchbox.
Inside were leftover vegetable scraps and watered-down soup from two nights ago. Already sour.
That was mine.
Director Finch was a heavyset woman in her fifties. The moment she walked through the door and took in the scene, her eyes welled up.
"Mr. Chavez, in twenty years running the orphanage, I've never seen a family treat a child the way you treat Harrison. Not once."
Terence waved her off with practiced humility.
"It's only right. Harrison is our own flesh and blood, as far as we're concerned."
Harrison performed a piano piece he'd learned two days ago. He butchered it completely, but Director Finch led the applause.
Riding the warm atmosphere, Mom stood and walked to my bedroom door.
Her expression carried a hint of tenderness.
"Sweetheart, listen to how lively it is out here. I know you love your brother so much that you gave up your room for him, but you still need to eat. Come say hello to Ms. Finch, okay?"
She raised her voice deliberately so everyone in the living room could hear.
From behind the door, nothing. Not a sound.
Director Finch reached over and patted Mom's shoulder.
"Your older daughter sounds like a good kid too."
"She is. Just headstrong."
Terence sighed on cue from the side.
"Teenage girls get jealous easily. She's been sulking ever since her brother arrived. Nothing we say gets through. Last night she threw a fit and locked herself in her room. She still won't come out."
"Oh, that's nothing. You two are doing more than enough."
After the director left, Mom went back to the table to clear the dishes.
Terence's phone was buzzing nonstop in the residents' group chat.
The neighbor from the floor below had sent a long voice message.
"Mr. Chavez, is something leaking in your apartment? Black water's been dripping from my bathroom ceiling since last night, and the whole place reeks like something's burning. What is going on up there?"
Terence typed back immediately.
"So sorry about that, everyone. My older daughter was in a bad mood and burned some scrap paper in her room to blow off steam. I'm really sorry. I'll take care of it right away."
The chat went quiet for a beat. Then the messages came flooding in.
"Burning paper? Mr. Chavez, you're way too soft on that girl!"