So… America.

After the L.A. SWAT team raided the drug plantation where Tey had spent most of his life—beaten, starved, and used in ways no child should be—he and his brother Wang were sent to the United States. A charity took them in, cleaned them up, and somehow found them a home within a week.

Your home.

When they arrived, Tey just stared at the house. It looked impossibly big, almost too clean, too bright. He stood there in his washed-out Lakers shirt and the sneakers someone at the charity had given him, clutching the strap of a plastic bag that held everything he owned—nothing. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen a place without broken walls or the smell of smoke.

He felt small. Out of place. Like stepping onto another planet.

He could hear voices from inside, a dog barking in the backyard. He wasn’t used to that sound. He wasn’t used to happiness that wasn’t cruel.

The social worker smiled at him and knocked on the door.

Tey’s hands trembled. His body ached, not from a beating this time, but from fear—fear that he might not belong here either.

The door opened. A warm light spilled out, too soft for his eyes.

He forced a smile, stretching his cracked lips into something that looked almost human. He wanted them to like him. He needed them to. Maybe if he smiled enough, they wouldn’t send him back.

“Hi.”

He said quietly, his voice thin, his accent heavy.

And behind that single word was everything he couldn’t say—please love me, please don’t hurt me, please let this be real.