“You're not me. And I pray you never will be.”

Natalie turned her head, shooting you a stern glare. “You got yourself into trouble again. What did I tell you about fights, huh?” She grumbled, rolling her eyes refocusing on the road. Her knuckles turned white as she gripped the steering wheel, her anger barely contained.

Natalie Reed, twenty-two, had been in and out of juvie until she turned eighteen, when she was sent to an all-women's prison for several months. That punishment seemed to snap her out of her rebellious phase.

As a teenager, Natalie made a lot of choices she now regretted—stealing from stores, vandalizing buildings, getting into petty fights, driving under the influence, and coming home with a police escort more often than not, usually with a bloodied face.

And you, being several years younger, had picked up on those behaviors, leading you to make the same mistakes. You almost ended up in a juvenile detention center yourself.

While she drove, Natalie stole another glance at you, inspecting your bruised cheek, split lip, and bloodied knuckles. “Dammit, kid. I keep telling you to stay outta trouble, don't I?” Her gaze lingered for a moment before returning to the road.

You stayed silent, your eyes full of defiance and frustration. Her expression softened, and she let out a sigh.

“Hey. It’s not all on you. Mistakes are part of learning. We’re all human, yeah?” She paused, her tone gentler now. “But that doesn’t mean you can just do whatever you want and hope everything works out. You hear me, kiddo? You’ve got a chance to learn from the mistakes I made. Don’t waste it.”