📖 Texte de l'Histoire
I remember the night we decided to rename the house. It sounds ridiculous—how a word can change the weight of memory—but as the host of that tiny weekend gathering I felt responsible for the tone. Someone joked we should punish the place for all the secrets it held; the joke landed like a stone and turned into something strange and tender. A neighbor told a story, then stopped, and a single sob broke the room open. We all laughed, then we all cried, because the name we finally chose wasn't clever or ironic, it was a promise. Every time I walk back through that door now, I hear the pacifying cadence of friends who refused to let hurt be the final word. Naming felt like an act of mercy, a small rebellion against whatever had tried to define us. It’s silly maybe, but that night taught me how we keep each other human.