My Sister Got Two Pink Princess Rooms. I Got A Trash Bag Chapter 01
But when I showed up with my suitcase, my dad said the attic was my brother’s study now.
My mom said the storage closet could fit an air mattress.
My sister Claire Hayes?
They were fighting over her. Which princess room she’d stay in. Which house was better.
My brother William sighed. “You’re leaving for college anyway. What’s the big deal with a couch for a few days?”
My childhood best friend Logan Pierce took Claire’s suitcase without even looking up. “She’s picky about beds. You’re adaptable.”
They all remembered every detail about Claire.
But not one of them remembered this: I’m their daughter TOO. I need a place TOO.
That night, my counselor sent me a message.
Early admission to UT Austin. Confirm or not?
The school was two thousand miles away—but I didn’t hesitate.
I typed back: Confirm.
If neither house has room for me—then I’m not coming back.
…
My parents split when I was eleven.
My dad took William. My mom took Claire.
Nobody fought for me.
I got assigned to my dad, but he sent me to my grandparents’ in Connecticut the next day.
Seven years later, they both had new houses.
The day the renovations finished, two messages popped up in the family group chats:
“Two homes. Both girls always have a room.”
William said, “I’ll handle both renovations myself.”
Even Logan promised: “I’ll help you move. No matter which house you’re at. Nobody gets left behind.”
Right before school started, Claire and I dragged our bags back to Boston from my grandparents’ farm.
My dad held up his phone. “Claire’s princess room is all done.”
My mom shoved her screen at the camera. “Why your place? I have a princess room too—Claire picked the wallpaper.”
William cut in: “I put up the star lights in Dad’s house myself.”
Logan grinned from the corner. “And I spent two weeks with Claire testing mattresses for Mom’s place.”
They argued the whole meal over which house Claire should stay in.
Finally, they decided: weekdays at Dad’s, weekends and holidays at Mom’s.
I waited until they were quiet.
“What about my room?”
My dad blinked. “Yours had the best light—I made it William’s study. Stay at your mom’s.”
My mom frowned. “You’re with your dad on paper. That’s not my responsibility. I don’t even have space for an air mattress.”
William sighed. “Nora, you’re going to college soon anyway. You’ll be in a dorm. If you come home for the summer, the couch is fine for a few days.”
Logan grabbed Claire’s bag without looking up. “Claire has trouble sleeping in unfamiliar beds. You’re adaptable. You’ll make it work.”
For Claire, they’d have sent her stuff overnight through FedEx just to be sure.
For me? It was a game of who could come up with the better reason I didn’t belong.
Nobody took me in the end.
So I grabbed my bag and walked to my dad’s.
The front door had a new Schlage smart lock—installed sometime in the last year. I punched in my old code.
The light flashed red. Once. Twice. Three times.
I tried again. Same result.
Dad’s fingerprint was in the system. My stepmom’s. William’s. Claire’s.
Even Logan’s—because someone was always needing him to drop off Claire’s art supplies or overnight bags.
Six people had access to that door.
I wasn’t one of them.
I sat down on the front steps. Called my dad. Straight to voicemail. Called William. No answer.
After a while, my screen went black. Battery dead.
I waited four hours on those steps.
William finally came back from his lab. He used his fingerprint to open the door.
My legs were numb when I stood. I stumbled inside, my shoulder smacking the doorframe. It hurt.
William glanced back. Said nothing.
The attic was completely changed.
Anatomy charts on the walls. Medical journals on the desk. A new espresso machine in the corner.
My old books. A few hoodies. My grandmother’s photo album—all shoved into three boxes stacked by the stairs.
Claire was at my mom’s this week. Her princess room here was empty.
I stood in the hallway, voice low.
“Just until college starts. I won’t touch Claire’s stuff.”
My dad didn’t look up.
“Claire’s particular. She doesn’t like people in her room. Even if she’s gone all summer, that bed stays hers.”
That night, I unrolled my sleeping bag on the living room couch.
Claire FaceTimed.
She saw the boxes by the stairs and her camera wobbled.
“Dad, those boxes are ugly. It’s going to be so cramped when I’m back on the weekend.”
The call didn’t even end five minutes before my dad walked over. “Go to your mom’s.”
My mom’s voice cut through the speaker, sharp and loud:
“You can’t even make space for your own daughter? What kind of father are you?”
For a second, I actually thought she might finally take me.
But when I dragged my bag over, I couldn’t get in either.
I waited in the lobby almost an hour until my stepdad came home from work. He used his key card to get me upstairs.
The study that had briefly been mine was now full of my stepdad’s things.
Whiskey and cigars on the shelves. Cashmere in the closet. An abstract painting from Sotheby’s on the wall.
Claire had gone back to Dad’s to see the star lights. Her princess room at Mom’s was empty too.
I said I just needed a few days.
My mom blocked the doorway, hand on the frame.
“This is Claire’s room. Even if she only comes once a month, it has to stay hers.”
My parents started arguing on the phone again.
But this time, it wasn’t about who I’d stay with.
It was about who’d get stuck with not taking me.
Then Logan showed up.
He didn’t ask for a room for me.
He just put my bag in his trunk, drove quiet through Queens, and took me out to Long Island.
My grandparents’ old house.
They’d moved to Florida years ago, and it had sat empty for three years.
Both families used it for storage now.
The big rooms were full of old furniture. The smallest room—a storage closet—could barely fit an air mattress.
It was stacked with Claire’s old clothes and toys.
The mattress was wedged in the middle of the floor.
I couldn’t even open my suitcase halfway without the zipper hitting the wall.
Logan glanced around. “One night. I’ll come back tomorrow and help you sort it.”
Before he even finished, Claire called.
The pillows at dad’s weren’t right—could Logan bring the ones from mom’s place?
Logan grabbed his keys. “Get some rest. I’ll be back after I drop these off.”
He didn’t come back.
I went through some boxes in that closet and found two old keys.
One for my dad’s old house. One for my mom’s.
They’d both switched to smart locks the year they split. These keys didn’t open anything anymore.
At the bottom of one box, I found a drawing.
A floor plan William had sketched in fifth grade with colored pencils.
Two rooms side by side, with “Nora” and “Claire” scrawled across them in crooked handwriting. Underneath, in big bold letters:
TWO SISTERS, TWO ROOMS. I PROMISE I WON’T PICK SIDES.
I stared at it for a long time.
Then I folded it back along the old creases and put it in the box.
That night, both of Claire’s bedrooms were empty.
And I was curled up on an air mattress in that storage closet on Long Island, surrounded by all her old stuff.
Both family group chats kept buzzing.
[Did Claire settle in okay?]
[Is the mattress firm enough?]
[Make sure she has the right pillowcase—the silk one, not the cotton.]
Message after message after message.
Not one of them asked where I was sleeping that night.