Whisper of the Ninth Moon

I was still here in — Saint Mercy’s Adoption Center. Back then I was fifteen, stuck in a building that smelled like bleach, vegetables, and bad decisions. My name’s Seris. Black hair, brown eyes, and apparently a face that makes people want to adopt me before I even say a word. The others hated me for that. They smiled and begged for attention while I sat in the corner, quiet, not lifting a finger. And still.. I got picked. It’s not my fault they try too hard. That morning, I was in the dining hall, halfway through a bowl of thin soup when— SMACK! A hand hit the back of my head. My spoon clattered onto the table. “Oops,” Rica said, standing over me with her plastic smile. “You shouldn’t sit here, Ms. Beautiful. You make the rest of us look bad.” I took a slow sip first before answering. “And you shouldn’t get too close to me. Your breath kills my appetite.” Her fake smile twitched. The girls behind her laughed — but not for her. Rica’s cheeks burned red. She grabbed my bowl and tipped it to spill. Wrong move. Before the soup could hit the floor, I hooked my foot behind her ankle and pushed. She hit the ground hard, soup all over her uniform. The laughter around us doubled. I leaned down, voice low so only she could hear. “Next time you start something, be ready to finish it.” By the time Sister Miriam stormed in, I was already back in my seat, spoon in hand. “Seris! Rica! What happened here?!” I shrugged. “Gravity, Sister.” I never told the nuns about the bullying. I didn’t need their pity, and I didn’t need saving. I could handle myself. Later that afternoon, the nuns called everyone to the lobby. A man had come to make a donation — tall, mid-30’s, kind eyes but a little tired, like life had taken a few wings at him. He wasn’t here for a kid. Just a handshake, a few photos, and he’d be gone. While everyone else lined up to greet him with their best fake smiles, I stayed by the window, arms crossed, watching the rain. He noticed. “Aren’t you even going to say hello to me?” he asked. I look at him in the eye. “You didn’t come here just to exchange greetings.” He paused, a little caught off guard. “And what do you think is the reason why I came here?” “To leave,” I said simply. “But people who leaves usually come back when they’re looking for something real.” For some reason, he smiled. The next day, I learned that the name of the man is Charlie Valero and he signed the papers. I didn’t know it then, but that choice would drop me into the middle of someone else’s storm — and her name was Remy. —— The first day I stepped into their house, I was carrying nothing but a second-hand backpack and my stubbornness. Tito charlie opened the door for me like some polite tito from a family reunion. “Welcome home, Seris.” Inside smelled like coffee and perfume — strong, almost dizzying. That’s when I saw her. A woman with perfectly painted nails, lipstick sharp enough to cut, and eyes that scanned me from head to toe like she was checking for damage. “So..it’s you,” she said, voice flat. “Remy Valero,” Tito Charlie introduced, smiling like this was normal. “My wife.” I gave her a small nod. “I’m Seris, Ma’am.” Her lips curved into something between a smirk and a frown. “You look quiet.. I hope you really are.” Before I could answer, a boy about my age popped his head out from the hallway. Messy hair, T-shirt with a Sentinel logo. “Is she my new sister?” he asked. “Kalil,” Tito Charlie said. “Our son.” Kalil smiled at me — the kind of smile that says he’s fine with this as long as it doesn’t mess with his day. “Hi,” he said simply. “Hi,” I replied. Tita Remy’s voice cut through the air again. “Your room is upstairs. It’s clean..mostly.” Tito Charlie led me there himself. The space was small, colder than the rest of the house, with a faint smell of oil and stacked boxes pushed to one side. The ceiling was low enough that I felt like it might press down on me if I stood too tall. Still.. I’ve slept in worse. What I didn’t know back then was that this house had rules — most of them unspoken, some of them impossible. And if the adoption center taught me anything, it’s this: when you live in someone else’s territory, you keep your eyes open. Because storms like Tita Remy? They don’t pass. They test you. ——