The car pulled up to the curb, just beneath a tall brick building wrapped in ivy and old iron balconies. It stood a little apart from the glass towers — quieter, warmer somehow.
Billy didn't move right away.
He stared at the entrance. Dark wood doors with a narrow vertical window, mailboxes lined up beside it.
His chest tightened.
Camila turned off the engine, glancing over.
"Want to take a second?" she asked gently.
Billy nodded, not yet reaching for the door.
Outside, people passed by with coffee cups and music in their ears.
Life moved on, unaware that a boy in the passenger seat had no idea what he was supposed to feel about his own address.
"It's weird," he said quietly.
"What is?"
"Being here. Knowing I lived here… but feeling like I'm visiting someone else's story."
Camila didn't push. She just waited with him, quietly present.
After a beat, Billy finally opened the door and stepped out.
