On the morning I turned eighteen, my foster parents told me to pack my things and leave. I had nowhere to go, no one to call. Then, in the middle of a crowded station, a stranger slipped a key into my hand and that single moment changed everything I thought I knew about my life.
I can’t say my childhood was happy, but I know it could’ve been worse. I don’t remember my real parents. My memories start with strangers.
I can’t say my childhood was happy, but I know it could’ve been worse
Foster homes, one after another, until I ended up with Paul and Karen when I was ten.