“She’s too much. We can’t.” Foster mother one said.
Foster father one nodded.
Age 10
“She stole from us. We can’t.” Foster father two said.
“I’ll never get that necklace back.” Foster mother two said.
Age 11
“We’ll keep him. But she has to go.” Foster father three said.
“I hate it. But... she’s... we just can’t.” Foster mother three said.
Age 12
“What do you think?” My sister Kacie asked.
“Where did you get that?” I asked.
She snickered, “From some kid at school. You want some?”
I growled as I took the little baggy of white stuff from her and headed to the bathroom to flush it down the toilet.
Unfortunately, Foster father four walked into our shared room, saw the little baggy in my hand... and called the cops.
And guess who showed up with a smirk on his face?
The same cop who arrested me when I was eight.
Age 15
“She’s only thirteen. She shouldn’t be acting this way.” Foster mother five said.
Age 16
“What are we going to do?” Kacie asked.
Seven Months Later
I held my sister’s hand and bit the inside of my cheek as hard as I could while I watched my nephew being placed into a woman’s arms who had tears in her eyes.
And as I watched my nephew being taken away, all I recalled was the woman who had on a blue dress and short brown hair.
I looked at my sister, who had her eyes turned to the television, laughing at the show she had become invested in.
Age 16
The same cop smirked at me as he pulled out a set of cuffs, “Told him. Warned him. Can’t fucking wait to say I told you so.”
I knew he was talking about the man who had arranged the foster placement for my sister and me when I was eight, and she was six.
Then I was placed in the back of a squad car once again.
But this time... well... it would be worth it.
Four Days Later
