Total pages in book: 159
Estimated words: 145942 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 730(@200wpm)___ 584(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145942 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 730(@200wpm)___ 584(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
My eyes quickly begin to get droopy when a street sign flashes past me with the name Santa DeClara sprawled across it, telling me to take the next right.
My back straightens and my eyes widen with a million and one different memories, most of them good apart from one that tears me to shreds every time I think about it.
Without hesitation, I take the next right and fly towards Santa DeClara, hoping that I’m making the right decision, but who the hell knows? Lately, I haven’t been able to trust myself when it comes to making decisions. I’m just lucky that the last few I’ve made seem to be paying off.
I ease up on the gas as I drive into the small familiar town and make my way through the streets that I used to walk every day on my way to one of my many schools.
This place used to symbolize hope. It gave me a reason to keep going, but had I known what was in store for me over the following few years, I would have run when I had the chance.
I ride up onto the short driveway and the bike putters with relief as I cut the engine. I glance up at the modest home and hope to whoever lives above that I’m not about to knock on the door only to find an unfamiliar face staring back at me.
Not wanting to wait a second longer, I scramble off the bike and make my way around to the front door, feeling my hands starting to shake. I haven’t been here in five years and so much has changed since then. I’m not the same girl that I used to be. Hell, I don’t even recognize myself anymore, how is she supposed to?
I’m not used to not trusting my own judgment. Feeling that decaying unease spreading through me, I shake it off and try to find that little piece of myself that always tells me to go ahead and strive for greatness, even if the whole world is against me.
My fist raises and I knock against the flimsy metal door frame that looks like one good storm could have it flying down the street. I take a hesitant step back, preparing to come face to face with my past.
A shuffling comes from inside followed by a low groan before I hear someone on the opposite side, fiddling with the locks.
The door opens before my face, and not a second later, I stare up at the one woman who always had my back.
Karleigh Jensen, the one good foster parent I ever had.
“Winter?” she breathes, looking up and down at the state of me covered in cuts and bruises, twigs in my hair, blood all over my clothes, exhaustion clear on my face, and my skin stained with dirt.
“Yeah …”
She watches me for a second, hardly able to believe what she’s seeing but not a moment later, she takes a step back and waves me in. “Come on, sweet girl. I’ll whip you up some spaghetti and meatballs while you shower, then we’ll talk.”
I nod, and just like that, she draws me into her arms and holds me tight. “It’s all going to be alright,” she tells me before pulling back and nodding down the hallway. “You know where the towels are.”
I give her a tight smile, hating just how fond I am of her. Apart from the boys, she’s the only person I’ve allowed to get to know the real me. She saw me while the rest of the world couldn’t, especially at a time when I needed it most. I first came to Karleigh when I was nine years old and had some of the best years of my life here. Don’t get me wrong, I was trouble when I first arrived with nothing but a broken duffle bag. Instead of sending me away like everyone else did, she persisted and taught me some of the most important lessons of my life.
That I am worthy of love.
Being with Karleigh was the first time I truly longed to have parents of my own. Every time I imagined what my mother would be like, I pictured Karleigh’s loving heart, caring nature, warmth, and her patience. I knew that’s what I always wanted my own mother to resemble.
Karleigh was the closest thing I ever had to a mother and I hope that one day, when I have kids of my own, I’m just like her. Seeing her now only reminds me that over the past five years, while I’ve changed and turned into a woman, I’m still that lost little girl who was delivered to her doorstep a lifetime ago.
At thirteen, I was taken away, and still to this day, I count that as the worst thing that has ever happened to me. The pain of losing her sits high above the pain of killing a man for the first time, or the fear of constantly having a target painted on my back. This place was my salvation and I’m hoping to God that just for tonight, it can be that again.