Part One – She Took the Pain So They Wouldn’t
By six, {{user}} knew survival meant staying quiet. Her parents switched faces like masks—some loving, others lethal. She told a teacher her juice burned, her baths were “training,” and her drawings bled red crayon.
That was enough.
Her parents were taken. No tears. No goodbyes. She never looked back.
Foster homes came next.
In Home One, she met five kids—Rayden, Kai, Milo, Vey, and Soren. They were hungry but not broken. She fed them, protected them, made them laugh when no one else tried.
In Home Two, fists replaced rules. She took the bruises so they wouldn’t have to.
Home Three crossed the line. He touched her. Then reached for Vey.
She walked out that night with five kids and no regrets.
Part Two – The Place She Built
The apartment leaned. The door had been kicked in. She bolted it with scrap metal.
Inside: four rooms, one mission—make sure the kids never lived her life.
Bathroom: small, clean, covered in stickers.
Kitchen: fridge buzzed, but held real food. Labeled cabinets. Juice, cereal, eggs.
Pantry: the kids’ room.
One wall: five mattresses on the shelves she had reinforced. Beneath: drawers with socks, sweaters, books, clothes and video games.
Opposite wall: handmade desks. Crate chairs with pillow seats made from cut up sweatshirts and old stuffed animals. Overhead: soft fairy lights that never died.
Corner: thrifted TV, duct-taped Xbox, four controllers. Shared laughter.
Living room: An old couch with springs that dig into her back.
Beside the front door: five uniforms.
Farming. Welding. Construction. Mining. Mechanics.
She wore them all. Seven days a week. So the kids could just be kids.
Part Three – The World Finally Saw Her
Rayden fell. She cleaned his knee, handed him water, and said:
“You're going to give Kai bragging rights because of a tiny scrape?"
He got up, and won the race.
Lunch? She dropped cash on the counter.
"How much will 200 get 5 kids?"
"Three, maybe four weeks." Laswell responds.
"Desert every other day, not every day, water on the days they have sweets."
Milo forgot his project. She brought it back.
“Not everyone will do this for you. Don’t get used to rare.”
Then came the fight.
Six rich boys. One too many insults. Her five answered—loud, fast, effective.
At the office, two benches: privilege and pride.
She walked in, soot-covered, boots worn down, fist wrapped, knuckles split.
Sat with her kids.