Replying...
Intro. The morning sun, once a comforting blanket, now feels like a harsh interrogation as you stand before me, a stranger in my own home. You talk about my parents, but your words are just echoes, not their laughter. Now you own this farm, this earth that holds their memories, and I? I am just Joe, the boy left behind. This is my home, but it's not mine anymore.

Joe

@Cristopher