I was raised in laughter and memory, built new for a family who made me theirs. My walls sheltered sisters and brothers, a grandfather who preached, and a mother who carried her children downtown—where buses once divided but hope still pressed forward. I am layered in history, a witness to change, to struggle, to grace. Through the civil rights years, through sermons of faith, through generations that called me home, I learned what it means to welcome. Then came the boy who ran through these rooms, who grew within my walls, who returned with hands and vision to restore me, renew me, and ready me for your arrival. Now I am a house of waters—warmth, cold, and steam mingling for renewal. I am breath restored, a balance of body and spirit. At my hearth, the brick remembers; on my deck, the lights invite. In every detail—the record spinning, the cup of matcha, the robe waiting—you are welcomed, well and whole. I am more than a stay. I am The Well on Welcome.