Thirteen and Adrift

Thirteen. The number itself felt like a sharp edge, a sudden precipice I hadn't seen coming. Up until then, life had been a series of wobbles and recoveries, like learning to walk on a dock that shifted with every wave. But thirteen… thirteen was a storm. It started with whispers, hushed phone calls that ended with my mother’s voice cracking, then grew into a roar that swallowed everything familiar.

Mom. The word itself felt foreign, a title I barely recognized. She’d flitted in and out of my life like a dandelion seed on a gusty wind, leaving behind a trail of broken promises and a hollow ache in my chest. But this time, it was different. This time, the wind didn’t just carry her away; it blew down the house.

One moment, I was counting down the days to the new school year, dreaming of maybe, just maybe, blending in this time. The next, there were strange faces in our small apartment, the air thick with a tension that made my skin crawl. My mother was gone, not for a visit, not for a week, but gone. And then, the words: “foster care.”