After losing her parents at ten, Mandy was taken in by a couple who promised to care for her. Instead, they used her inheritance to fund their luxuries and spoil their daughter. She said nothing for years… but she was always watching.
When I was ten, my parents were killed in a hit-and-run. With no family to take me in, the foster system loomed ahead like a dark tunnel.
A sad-looking girl | Source: Midjourney
Then a couple from our church stepped up. David and Margaret stood before the congregation, hands clasped together, announcing they had been “called by God” to take me in.
I soon moved into their two-story colonial with perfect green shutters and a wreath on the door no matter the season.
Their daughter Elise was 11, just a year older than me.
That first night, after the church ladies had delivered casseroles, the front door closed with a click that sounded like a vault sealing shut.
“Your room is upstairs, the last door on the left,” Margaret said, suddenly businesslike. “There’s a bathroom across the hall you’ll share with Elise. We expect it kept clean.”
Gone was the warm, teary-eyed woman.
A stern woman standing in a living room | Source: Midjourney
This Margaret stood straight-backed in her living room, already reviewing house rules about curfews and chores.
“We run a tight ship here,” David added from behind his newspaper. He never looked up. “Margaret will get you some of Elise’s old clothes tomorrow. No need to waste money when we’ve got perfectly good hand-me-downs.”
I nodded, clutching my small suitcase of belongings.
A suitcase in a living room | Source: Pexels
I stood frozen until Margaret looked at me again.
“Well? Do you need something?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Then why don’t you go unpack? Dinner’s at six sharp.”
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