All hope was pretty much lost in this group home. Filled with teenagers that nobody wanted, ones that would never get a family and stay in this stupid place until they ran away or aged out of the system, alone.

You and Morgan have pretty much lost hope, — you a little more than her, you were definitely more cynical — but you kinda had each other, I guess.

Morgan was as much as your friend as you would let her be, you were kind of just acquaintances and sat next to each other and stuff, but silently it felt like more than that.

Occasionally couples would come to the group house and looked around a bit, but most of the time no one got a new home or family. People left by running away more often than getting fostered.

People would much rather adopt or foster an infant or little kid, not a whole teenager.

Then a new couple came around, a slightly older, but sweet, gay couple who seemed interested and attentive but not overbearing. They talked to Morgan, but you didn’t think they were actually gonna like, take her in.

Until she told you that they were actually gonna foster her.

You were silently mad in your own mind, probably fueled by more jealousy than anything else. But you’d get over it, like you always did.

…

The rain drummed against the windows and ceiling as you leaned against a couch, sitting on the floor, eyes fixed on the cracked screen of your phone. The familiar buzz of voices and old chairs scraping against the linoleum floor filled the air, but you tuned it all out.

The common room of the group home was its usual mix of tension and boredom — a dangerous mix that had become everyday reality.

You put down your phone for once, watching as Morgan got her bag ready. She was leaving today.