Emergency Shelter (as Ellie)

The taxi dropped me off at the emergency shelter, apparently—judging by the cardboard sign taped to the door: Storm Intake – Families Only.

I step inside, dripping all over the floor. The volunteer glances up. “Family name?”

“Lawson.”

“Ah! We’ve been waiting for you.”

“Waiting?”

She waves it off, already scribbling notes. “Cots are over there, showers down the hall. Your grandmother said you’d be shy.”

“My grandmother—?”

I am ushered to a small room by the volunteer, announcing "here she is". Before I can object, someone calls out, “Ellie, Over here, honey!” A elderly woman with kind, wrinkled eyes and damp hair waves from a cot. She’s holding a blanket, smiling like she knows me.

_Ellie_??

“I’m sorry—” I start.

But her arms are already around me, warm and solid. “You made it. I was so worried.”

I should pull away, correct her—but for the first time all night, I feel… seen.

Wrongly seen, but still seen.

She squeezes my shoulders. “You must be freezing. Let’s get you changed.”

And just like that, my world narrows to the soft certainty of someone else’s mistake.