That was the last time I saw Roma in the shelter. He disappeared the next day, but I didn't care. The kids were happy, and everything was peaceful. The shelter went back to how it was before Roma ever came—quiet and fun. The tension that had been hanging in the air since his arrival finally lifted. The kids laughed louder, played harder, and no one was watching over their shoulders, wondering if they were being judged.
The TV crew left with him. Their cameras, their lights, their microphones—all of it gone. The shelter felt lighter without them. The adults could do their work without being filmed. The kids could be kids without being told to smile for the camera.
I spent the next few days just enjoying the time I had left. I played with the kids. I helped in the kitchen. I sat with the elderly omega who had no one else to talk to. I made myself useful in all the small ways I knew how.
