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.
Foster homes, one after another, until I ended up with Paul and Karen when I was ten.
They told me I was their daughter, that I belonged with them, and I believed every word. For the first time in my life, I had a room that was mine and people who called me family.
They even had a son my age, Ethan. We didn’t get along much, but I still cared about him.
He could be mean, teasing me for being “the extra kid,” but I always forgave him.
I wanted so badly to believe we were a real family that I convinced myself his words didn’t matter.
Karen used to say, “You’ll always be our daughter.”
Paul nodded beside her.
Those words meant everything to me.
The night before my eighteenth birthday, I couldn’t sleep. Close to midnight, I went to the kitchen for a glass of milk. The light over the stove was on, and Paul was sitting there, drinking coffee.
He looked surprised when he saw me.
“Can’t sleep?” he asked.
“Just nervous about tomorrow.”
He smiled faintly. “We’ve got something special planned for you.”
“A surprise?”
“Something like that,” he said quietly.
Those words made me feel warm inside. I finished my milk, said goodnight, and went back to bed calmer than before.
When I woke up the next morning, the house was silent.
Sunlight spilled across the floor, but no one was home.
Remembering what Paul had said about a surprise, I assumed they’d gone out to prepare something for me.
But hours passed, and the house stayed empty.
No balloons, no smell of food, no noise. I sat by the window, watching the driveway, until finally I heard the front door open.
They were back — Paul, Karen, and Ethan — holding shopping bags and laughing about something.
“Happy birthday, sweetheart,” Karen said with her usual polite smile.
Paul echoed her softly, and Ethan mumbled a lazy “happy birthday” before walking to the living room.
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