The walls were painted pale yellow, and a blue quilt covered a twin bed in the corner.

A small pine desk sat right under the window facing the street.

The room was spotless and completely empty.

I gripped the handle of my clear plastic hospital bag.

It held a toothbrush, a plastic comb, and two pairs of standard-issue grip socks.

Nothing in this room held any history of my life.

Every book, photograph, and winter coat I had owned for thirteen years was locked inside a house across town.

“I have some extra wooden hangers in the hall closet,” Rachel said.