Are There Any Reviews For 'Not My Home'?

I spent my childhood dreaming of Daniel Wellington — my best friend’s father, the man who never looked at me twice. Until one night shattered everything. I ran to escape the heartbreak. Now, two years later, he’s standing at the front of my classroom, smirking like he never forgot. I swore I’d moved on. But how do you forget the only man you ever wanted... when he’s finally looking at you like you’re the only one he ever needed?

His hands were everywhere, and I let them be. “You know this is wrong,” he murmured against my throat. “I know.” I tilted my head back anyway. He pulled back, eyes dark. “Tell me to stop, Zella.” I looked at the silver in his hair, the jaw that could cut glass, my best friend’s father, twenty years too old and a thousand reasons too dangerous. “Don’t stop,” I whispered. Seven days before my Christmas wedding, I caught my fiancé with my cousin. By morning I had lost everything, my relationship, my job, my future. I walked into the London rain with nothing left. A stranger stopped his car. Offered an umbrella. Gave me a drink instead of the mistake I begged for. Then disappeared before dawn. I never expected to find him again in a darkened hotel room on New Year’s Eve… or to give him the one thing I’d never given anyone. The next morning, when my best friend introduced me to her father, Evander Ashford looked me in the eye and said, “Nice to meet you,” as if he hadn’t already ruined me the night before. He is forbidden. He is twice my age. He is the one man I was never supposed to want. But he is the first person who ever made me feel worth keeping, and the only place this broken heart has ever felt safe. Where Sin Feels Like Home — because sometimes the wrongest man is the only home you’ve ever known.

We have a family group chat meant for the core members only. It's named "the Coppola family". The ones in the group are my father, my mother, my oldest brother, Fabio Coppola; my second brother, Luca Coppola, and my little sister, Francesca Coppola. Oh, that's not all. Fabio's bloodhound, Fido; Luca's ragdoll, Neve; and Francesca's fancy rat, Pico, are members of the group chat too. I'm the only one who's not included in that group. There's once when I ask Francesca, "Can you add me into the group?" She's in the middle of feeding Pico at that time. Without bothering to glance at me, she replies, "That group is meant for insiders only. Wouldn't you feel awkward if you were to join the group, Valentina?" I just look at Pico, who keeps screeching in Francesca's arms. It has a special nickname and the right to speak up in the family group. To think that I, the Coppolas' biological daughter, am nothing compared to a fancy rat.

I was adopted. They were so good to me that every night before I fell asleep, I prayed to grow up healthy and happy in this home. Then Mom got pregnant. I hid under my covers and cried all night, quietly packing the little suitcase I had arrived with. But they didn't send me away. They loved me even more. The day my brother was born, Mom took my hand and gently stroked my head. "Having an older sister," she said, "is why we have a younger brother." Dad lifted me above his head and spun me around laughing. "Lily is our family's lucky star — our most beloved baby!" I finally stopped dreading every single day. I thought I had truly become part of this family. Then my brother snapped my favorite Barbie in half. I pushed him. He stumbled, sat on the floor, stared for two seconds, and burst into tears. Mom panicked, shoved me aside, and pulled him into her arms, asking over and over if he was hurt. Dad came running. He grabbed my shoulders and slammed me against the wall, eyes blazing. "Is this what I raised you all these years for — to bully your brother? Believe me when I say I will send you straight back to—"

A young girl called Flo fleeing her country due to war, in search of a new home. Flo encounters joy and lots of sadness along with love and loss. Will Flo ever find home and a place of safety and comfort in this world of war and chaos.

After years of running from her past, Lissa returns to the one place she never wanted to see again—her childhood home. The town hasn’t changed, but Lissa has. Now a mother, a wife, and a survivor, she’s trying to rebuild a life while standing on the crumbling foundation of her trauma. Just a few months. Just until she finds her footing. But the house doesn’t let go so easily. It smells of mildew and memory. Dust covers more than furniture—it coats every secret Lissa tried to bury. As she navigates motherhood, old friendships, and a strained relationship with her sister, Lissa discovers more than ghosts in the attic. A photograph violently scribbled out. A letter from someone she hoped was lost to time. And a journal that brings her back to the girl she used to be. Her husband, Colt, tries to be her anchor. Her son, Lucas, is her reason to fight. But a single name—just one letter, T—is all it takes to fracture her resolve. The past isn’t dead. It’s waiting in the basement. In a letter tucked behind old receipts. In the quiet corners of her memory where no one else can go. As the days pass, the house begins to feel like a trap.Lissa must decide if she’s strong enough to dig through the wreckage of her past… or if some secrets are better left buried. Told with raw emotion and atmospheric suspense, House of Quiet Screams is a story of trauma, resilience, and the silent strength it takes to confront what once felt un faceable. For Lissa, surviving was never the end of the story—facing what comes after might be the beginning.