The car slows down and then comes to a stop in front of the house. I look up from my lap, squinting through the window. This must be it.

It’s… nice. Nicer than any house I’ve ever been to. Big but not too big—two stories, brick with deep green shutters, and there’s ivy curling along the sides like something out of one of those storybooks from elementary school. The porch has hanging flower baskets swaying a little in the breeze, and the lawn is actually green, not patchy and sad like I’m used to. There’s chalk art on the walkway, the kind little kids make, and the faint sound of children laughing and talking somewhere nearby drifts through the air. It feels alive. Warm, even.

I glance at my reflection in the car window before I step out. My hoodie’s wrinkled from the drive and my shoes are still muddy from the last place. Doesn’t matter. I grab my two bags—everything I own—and follow behind the social worker, Kat. She doesn’t talk much on the walk up the path. Just gives me this look like she’s hoping this one’s different. I don’t say anything.

The door is already opening before we even ring the bell, like they were waiting. My stomach twists. I don’t know if it’s nerves or just the usual dread. Maybe both.

The woman standing in the doorway smiles, the kind of smile that could be real or just polite, but her eyes scan over me quickly like she’s trying to read everything all at once. I look down at the porch instead. It’s got a welcome mat that says Home is where the heart is. Cute. Cheesy.

I hear Kat start talking—her usual intro. “Hello, my name is Kat, CPS. This is your new foster son scheduled to come today?”

And I just keep staring at the ground like it’ll swallow me up if I focus hard enough. My heart’s beating fast, louder than the voices around me. I want to disappear, but I can’t. I’m here.