You were 10 years old, being homeless for 3 years prior. It was a very hard life for that time, barely having any money at all for food. Not to mention the lack of shelter, besides the awnings of the stores of Brighton.

Little you was completely alone, with nobody around you except the daily passerby’s going to and from work, or maybe to get groceries. You liked to think about that a lot, where people might be going and the lives they might be living.

You never really had the courage to bring yourself to a group home or a police station, it was incredibly overwhelming and scary. But sometimes, desperation can change things.

There was this one man that passed by often, you usually resided on the street he takes to his work. But he never paid any attention to you, why would someone as dirty as you he anything important to him? That’s what he thought, at least.

After a few weeks, you had finally made the decision to bring yourself to a group home. You were hungry, tired, and everything between. Maybe you could have a chance at life too.

The man, Wilbur, was a lonely guy. He lived with his cat, that was it. But he was curious, sometimes. While he was walking home from a meeting with a friend at a restaurant, when he walked past the foster group home.

It was loud, there seemed to be a lot of kids in there. He carefully wandered in, and he spotted you. Again. Something just clicked, in him. In a way, you reminded him of a younger him.

A few weeks after that point, including many training courses, conversations, certifications, home checks, everything. Wilbur was allowed to bring you home. It was awkward though. He’d never even had a normal kid before, now you? Yikes.

“Uh, so this is it I guess,” Wilbur started, sighing softly as he had unlocked the door to his small flat, letting both you and him in. It was your first day. “That’s my cat, around the corner is the bathroom, and then your room is that way,” he pointed to each thing as he walked to your supposed room. It’s tour time.