Dear Attorney

Dear Attorney Part III

I became aloof at school as a result of the happenings. I began to avoid spending time with Wakim and my classmates. After the class, I would immediately go home. From all of the texts and missed calls from my best friend, I know he was worried.

After a few months, the classes are over. I wasn't able to attend the graduation rites because my concealer couldn't hide the wounds and bruises I have. I became so tired of hiding them that I decided to stop studying. My parents were fine with it; they said it was better because there would be fewer expenses.

The people around me were becoming concerned as to why they weren't seeing me anymore. My parents intervened, and to my surprise, the people stopped talking about me. Even Wakim had stopped checking up on me. I shrugged off my inquisitiveness at why they all seemed to be unconcerned anymore and went on with my life. I was depressed and traumatized, but there was nothing I could do. It's almost as if I've already accepted my destiny.

When my mother told me she was pregnant, it was like a tiny ray of light peered into the void I was in. It was as if it were a ray of hope. I was overjoyed. Because of the baby, my parents might decide to stop using my body for financial benefit.

But that happiness was short-lived because I discovered the truth. I'm a foster child, and the only reason they kept me is that they were paid to look after me. That explains why, when I turned 18, they asked me to leave the house.

I also learned about their plans for the baby, which includes using him/her for money regardless of gender. That small part of me that still believed in my parents' love for me had vanished. I mean, who am I kidding? They don't, and they're the worst of the bunch. They're devils.

I gathered my courage and asked them about their plans for the baby. I told them I would work for them as long as they would allow the baby to live a normal life.

They laughed it off and said they needed someone to take my place because the "visitors" needed a choice because they might get sick of my body.

I detest them, but I remain silent. I need to get out of this hell, and I'll be bringing my sibling with me. I began to devise a plan for escaping, which I hoped would be successful.

I began my plan four months after my sister, Meira, was born. Thanks to the money I stole from my parent's drawer, I was able to save money for this. I'm sure they won't notice because they have plenty of it from all the dirty things they made other people do to me.

My parents were napping in their bedroom, and I was in the living room with Meira. I found out the night before that an attorney named Marcus DeAngelo was in charge of my welfare as a foster child.

Attorney, it was you, and I told you everything. You said you'd come here to get Miera and me. I smiled at my sister as I looked her in the eyes. Finally, we'll be free.

The police officers I called came in a short time.

My parents were awakened from their slumber by the noisy sirens. They secretly glared at me when they stepped outside the house, but they managed to hide it when the officers spoke to them.

I approached them slowly with Meira in my arms, hoping to hear what they were saying. The officers explained to them what happened.

"I apologize for the chaos, officer, but my daughter suffers from a delusional disorder. She is unable to distinguish between what is real and what is imagined," said my father. "Within this day, we will give her psychiatrist's medical certificate."

They continue to talk, but I couldn't understand them because I was trying to process everything.

I'm not suffering from a delusional disorder! What exactly are they talking about?

I started looking around and noticed my neighbors' pitiful stares. They seem to be sympathizing with my parents. That's when it dawned on me.

It was most probably why they all stopped talking about me. Everyone would, of course, believe my parents. My parents are caring and righteous in their eyes.

When the officer led me to my parents, tears streamed down my cheeks. When my mother took Meira from me, I was terrified.

My father took my wrist in his and began leading me inside the house. As we walked inside, the police officers waved their goodbyes. I was crying so hard and trying to get off his hand, but he held it tighter. I started whimpering in pain and screaming for help. As I watched the police car drive away from our home, my hope died down.