The front door clicked shut behind me.
7:03 p.m.
I had no house. No money. And his baby in my stomach. For a second, I just stood there.
Then I started walking. I didn’t know where I was going. I just knew I needed to walk.
The air was cold. It brushed against my skin, but I barely felt it. My body still felt weak and unsteady, but I kept moving anyway, dragging the bag behind me.
I’ve had nowhere before.
Just not like this.
When I was three, I was adopted.
I don’t remember anything before that, just that I stopped being alone.
At first, they were good to me. They treated me like their child.
I had a room. I went to school. I ate with them at the table. I didn’t feel like I was just… taken in. I felt like I belonged there.
I held onto that until I was ten. That was when my adopt
