After I moved in with my boyfriend Brian and his daughter, Alicia, everything in my life changed. My 5-year-old son David stopped playing like he used to. He became clingy, always wanting to be near me, and whenever Alicia came close, he’d flinch as if something was wrong. Everyone kept telling me it would take time, that he’d adjust. But deep down, I knew something was off. Before Brian, life had been simple. Just me and David. We were a two-person team in a small apartment with squeaky floors, a

When I was just ten years old, tragedy struck. My parents were killed in a hit-and-run accident, leaving me all alone in the world. With no family to take me in, the foster system loomed ahead, dark and uncertain like a tunnel with no end. But then, a couple from our church stepped in. David and Margaret Taylor stood before the congregation, their hands clasped together, and said they had been “called by God” to care for me. I was grateful, or at least, I tried to be. I moved

The Boy in the Rain The rain poured so hard it was like the sky was angry. I couldn’t even see the streetlight down the block. Water ran down my back, soaking through my too-thin hoodie, and my shoes made squishy sounds with every step. I was freezing. I stood outside a fancy restaurant. It had shiny gold doors and soft music playing inside. Through the big windows, I could see people laughing and eating plates of hot food. My stomach growled so loud I thought someone might hear it.