Almost Loved

Prologue

Reina's POV

"Eighteen"

The cake was a lie.

Not that it wasn't edible. Miss Karen had done her best, mixing three different kinds of box cake mixes into a Frankenstein sheet that somehow tasted more like lemon than chocolate. But it wasn't the taste. It was what it stood for.

Eighteen candles.

Fourteen years since I arrived at the steps of St. Margaret's Home for Girls, bundled in a threadbare blanket with no name, no parents and no memory anyone could call hers.

They said it was my birthday. May 6. Not because anyone knew it for sure, but because that was the day the social worker logged me in. The day I was found. That had become my beginning, my label, my annual reminder that I didn't come from anywhere. I just appeared.

Reina Bennett. The name someone gave me in a rush of paperwork. It was a good name, strong and full, but it felt borrowed. Like a sweater two sizes too big.

I blew out the candles to polite claps from the younger girls, who looked at me with a mix of awe and envy. The oldest girl in the home, finally "an adult." None of them said it, but I knew what they were thinking: She was leaving. She gets to go.

But where?

The answer was nowhere. At least, not for the next three months.

College started in September. It was May now. Three months until the home legally released me. Four months until I'd have a dorm bed to call my own. And in between? A question mark.

I sat on the edge of my bed later that night, looking at the window rather than through it. The moon was full, the same way it had been when I turned ten and cried because I didn't get the Barbie I wanted. The same as when I turned fourteen and pretended I didn't care, no one from a foster family ever picked me. The same as when I turned sixteen and promised myself I wouldn't cry anymore.

But tonight...

Tonight, it felt like I was waiting for something to change just because the calendar said I should.

My stomach was tight, not from cake, but from the thick knot of fear twisting deeper with every tick of the clock. Adulthood. Independence. It sounded good in theory-freedom, choices, being my own person-but no one ever talked about the part where I had to figure out how to survive. Where to sleep. What to eat. How to be.

A soft knock came at the door.

I didn't answer, but the door creaked open anyway. Miss Thompson stepped inside. She always knocked even though she had full permission to walk into any room she pleased. It was her way of being respectful-her way of saying, "You matter."

"I saved you a second slice," she said, holding out a napkin-covered square. "The girls didn't even notice."

I cracked a smile. "Thanks, Miss T."

Miss Thompson didn't sit right away. She looked around the small room like she was trying to memorize it, even though she'd helped paint it herself just last summer. My room. The one I'd had to myself since I turned sixteen, because no one else stayed that long anymore. They were usually taken in or transferred out.

Miss T finally perched on the side of the bed, her eyes kind. "Big day, huh?"

"Mm." I shrugged.

"You don't have to pretend," Miss T said gently. "I know this birthday... it's not like other birthdays."

That was an understatement.

I took the cake but didn't eat it. "It's not even really my birthday," I mumbled. "Just the day I landed here. That's not something to celebrate."

"You were found," Miss T said softly. "That matters."

"I guess."

A silence fell between us, not heavy, but thoughtful.

"I've been thinking," I said after a while, tracing the edge of the napkin. "Three months isn't that long. And then I'm out. But I don't know where I'm supposed to go. I mean... I can't sleep on a park bench."

Miss T gave a slow nod. "We've been thinking about that too. There's a transition program we're trying to get you into. It's a small apartment program for girls aging out. No guarantees, but your name's on the list."

My chest loosened slightly. "Thank you."

"Of course, sweetheart. I won't let you fall through the cracks. Not you."

I blinked rapidly. That "not you" sat heavy. Like I was someone worth holding onto. Like I mattered.

"I keep thinking," I said, voice low, "what if I'm not ready? What if I mess everything up? College, life... I don't even know how taxes work. Or health insurance. Or who to call when I'm sick."

Miss T gave a soft chuckle. "None of us know how taxes work. That's what Google is for."

I smiled weakly. "I'm serious though."

"I know you are." She leaned closer. "But Reina, you've already survived so much more than some people twice your age. You've been brave in ways you don't even recognize. I've watched you teach yourself how to code with a busted laptop and no Wi-Fi. I've watched you help the younger girls with homework when you didn't have to. You've got grit. That's worth more than you know."

I didn't respond. I couldn't. The lump in my throat was too big.

After a long moment, Miss T stood and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, like she used to when I was little. "You're going to be okay. I believe in you, even if today doesn't feel like a celebration."

She left quietly, leaving behind the faint scent of cocoa butter and lavender. I sat alone again, my thoughts swirling like smoke.

I stared at the cake. Eighteen.

Adults were supposed to have it all figured out, weren't they? They were supposed to know what they were doing. But I didn't feel any different than I did yesterday. Just older. Just more aware of the hole that still lived inside me.

My fingers brushed the bracelet on my wrist-a tiny leather band Miss T had given me years ago. It was fraying now, but I never took it off.

I laid back, eyes on the ceiling, letting my mind drift to September. University. A fresh start. People who didn't know I came from an orphanage. Who wouldn't look at me like a charity case. Maybe even people who cared.

I wanted to be hopeful.

I wanted to believe that life was waiting to get better.

But hope, like birthdays, felt complicated.

And adulthood? It had already arrived. Ready or not.