You head downstairs.

Satisfied that you look presentable -- well, presentable enough for your immediate family, at least -- you open your door and head out into the hallway.

Actually, calling it a hallway might be a bit too generous; it's basically an unfinished attic, with exposed rafters and insulation lining the walls. Your bedroom is really the only part of this second floor that even has drywall and carpeting. You, your sister Laura, and your mother have lived in this house for as long as you can remember. Your mom says that, back when she and your dad bought it, it was a tiny farmhouse which they were able to purchase for a song.

They married young, with the intention of raising a family{if adopted==true}. Unfortunately, it wasn’t long after their marriage they discovered, to their dismay, that he was barren; there was no way they could have children of their own. Undeterred, though, they turned to adoption, and were luckily able to adopt you as a newborn baby, and a year after that, your sister Laura.{else}, and raise one they did: your mother soon gave birth to you, and a year later, your sister Laura.{endif} They worked for years on fixing the house up and making it cozy and livable for a small family, first sticking an addition onto the back to enlarge the kitchen and dining area, and second, raising the roof to create a dormer and make what was once mere cramped attic space livable.

Amazingly, your mom managed to juggle doing house renovations, raising you and your sister Laura, and working a part-time job as a computer technician during those years. You have no idea how she did it; she had help from your father, of course, but not for long. A year after the roof work had been raised, but before they had the chance to finish all the interior space, your dad was killed in a sudden squall. He had been driving home from the nearby building supply store, rain lashing at his windshield, barely able to see a few feet in front of the car, when a gust of wind toppled a dead tree that had already been tilting precariously at the side of the road. The tree came down atop the car, crushing him instantly.

You and your sister were far too young to even remember him at the time, but his sudden **** hit your mother hard, and she couldn't go on with fixing up the house. The memory of him, and the fact that he died while he was out getting more supplies for the renovation, was too painful to handle. So you ended up in the one room upstairs that had been finished before the accident, while your sister ended up getting the one actual "room" in the basement: the former coal room, from back when the farmhouse used a coal-burning furnace.

That was over a decade ago, at this point, and in the meantime your mother took a full-time job to make ends meet -- luckily, her degree in computer science came in handy there -- and you and your sister ended up in various daycare facilities during the day, until you were both old enough to attend school. You've never once resented her for that, though, understanding everything that she gave up to raise you and Laura.

The thing is, though... as much as you wish you'd had a father over the course of your life, somebody who you could learn from and talk with... a big part of you likes being the only guy in the family. You feel like you're the "man of the house," and it makes you feel somewhat important. Besides, you're wary of other guys, having been hurt by several over the course of your lifetime. What if your dad had been really into sports? What if he thought you weren't manly enough? You're not sure you could've handled that.

You reach the stairwell leading down to the main floor, and the smell of bacon and eggs hits you.