At 15, my life took a drastic turn. One day, I found my parents hurriedly packing, their faces emotionless. My younger brothers, Lucas and Ben, clung to me, terrified and confused.
“Tori, what’s going on?” Lucas asked, his voice trembling.
“I don’t know, but we’ll get through this,” I assured him, though I was just as scared.
The doorbell rang, and Child Protective Services entered. A gentle-looking woman said, “I’m here to help. We need to take you somewhere safe.”
“Please, don’t take us away,” I pleaded. “We can stay here; we’ll be good.”
“I’m sorry, Tori. It’s not up to me,” she replied softly.
Tears flowed as they separated us, placing us in different foster homes. The ride to my new home was a blur; I couldn’t stop thinking about my brothers.
The Thompsons, my foster family, were cold and unwelcoming. They made it clear I was a burden. Loneliness consumed me, and I missed my brothers terribly. I attempted to run away multiple times, but each time I was brought back and scolded.
One stormy night, I decided to leave for good. I found refuge in an abandoned trailer, working odd jobs to survive. Life was hard, but I was free from the Thompsons’ indifference.
I visited Lucas whenever possible, but Ben had been moved out of state, and I couldn’t locate him. The pain of our separation was unbearable.
Years went by, and I saved enough to enroll in community college. Balancing work and studies was challenging, but I was determined. Eventually, I earned a degree in business administration and secured a job at a clothing store. Through dedication, I worked my way up to store manager.
One day, there was a knock on my door. To my astonishment, it was my parents, Charles and Linda, smiling as if nothing had happened.
“Hello, darling!” my mother greeted me cheerfully.
I stood there, stunned.
“Can we come in?” my father asked.
I allowed them in, still in shock. They sat in my kitchen, and my mother said, “We were hoping you could let us stay here for a while, just until we get back on our feet.”
“You want to live with me?” I asked, incredulous.
“Yes,” they both replied.
“How did you even find me?” I demanded.
“Oh, sweetie, how does that matter? We’re family, and family is supposed to help each other, right?” my mother said.
I couldn’t contain my anger any longer. “You haven’t asked a single thing about my brothers since you arrived. You abandoned us, and now you expect me to help you?”
They looked shocked, but I didn’t give them a chance to respond. I went upstairs, retrieved an old ten-dollar bill my father had given me years ago, and handed it to them.
“I hope this helps you as much as it helped me back then. Now, please leave.”
Their smiles vanished as they realized I was serious. Without another word, they left.
As the door closed behind them, I felt a sense of closure. I was finally free from my past and ready to embrace whatever the future held.
