Sometimes the safer place isn’t the place that feels like home.

Here, the house is solid. The roof won’t blow off. There’s electricity, clean floors, soft beds. Everything says “comfortable”.

And yet my mind drifts back to the farm. A weaker roof, no power right now, mud, dogs that drive me crazy sometimes – but they’re mine. That’s where I belong, even if it makes less sense on paper.

Home isn’t the easier choice. It’s the one you keep choosing anyway.