(Not) written in the stars!

Prologue

As a typical 12-year-old, you should be hanging out with your friends, being a boy band fan, starting to care about boys, and being close to your rebellious phase as a soon-to-be teenager.

Unfortunately, I was far from typical, and my life was simply a mess. It wasn't always like that, though. The first six years of my life were incredible, and the memories from those days keep me going.

My mom was loving and calm; I can even remember her smell when I think of her. She stayed at home with me while Dad was at work. We read, played with Play-Doh, colored, baked cookies, and decorated cupcakes. She would sing to me and kept telling me that Evelyn meant "little bird," so I had my voice to sing and wings to fly wherever I wanted when I grew up. As a little girl, I believed her, but now, as a pre-teen, I know I am in a cage I cannot escape.

Mom and Dad were a beautiful couple. The moment Daddy arrived, he would drop his bag and electronics and focus only on us. We would have dinner together and watch a movie, and he and Mom would snuggle with me to read before bedtime. I felt safe and happy. Back then, I was a typical little girl.

But then mom got pregnant, and even though my memories of that time are scattered, I remember mommy having a difficult pregnancy that bound her to bed rest. I also remember Dad being constantly worried and on edge. Our neighbor, Ms. Monroe, visited to help my mom. She was nice, but I wanted to play, sing, and color, but still, Mommy couldn't do much. She looked pale, although she always gave me her best smile and let me touch her belly to feel my baby sister was kicking.

Around the end of the pregnancy, Dad was already drinking. I didn't know what it meant, but I would overhear some whispered discussions between my parents, my mom saying he needed to calm down to manage what was coming. I didn't know then that the complicated pregnancy could also mean my mom wouldn't make it back from delivery.

We never made it to be a family of four because Ava's arrival meant the loss of my mommy. Again, at six, it was a bit difficult to understand that she was gone forever. What was evident was that things weren't good. Dad wouldn't look at Ava, and the house started to get messy and smelly.

Ms. Monroe kept coming and tried to help. Usually, when I arrived from school, Ms. Monroe would have food ready for me and Dad; she would help me with my homework and teach me how to care for baby Ava. Ava was a good baby and hardly cried. That was a miracle in itself; maybe she was already conditioned since every time she started crying, Dad would scream at her. I was afraid of this version of my dad. He no longer was the knight in shining armor; he was more like the fire-breathing dragon.

As time passed, our lives unraveled even more. On the outside, people saw the poor widower with his two adorable girls. Inside the house, I became a mother at only seven and my typical life disappeared.

Dad lost his good-paying job and became more absent every day. By the time Ava was a toddler, we would hardly see him sober. He would leave early, claiming he was going to work, and arrive close to midnight. At least we still had Ms. Monroe. Eventually, she called Child Services, but they didn't do much. Nobody came to the rescue, and we fell through the cracks, like so many children in this country.

Whatever job Dad was doing didn't pay enough, and we eventually got evicted from our beautiful five-bedroom house. I was in fourth grade when we moved to a small two-bedroom apartment on the wrong side of town. Since I was in school and Dad could get in trouble if I missed too many days, he put Ava in a church daycare. At least for just a few hours, I tried to feel like an ordinary girl in school. 

I would draw sad pictures in my art class and desperately try to tell adults around me that things weren't OK, but nobody paid enough attention to help.

Ms. Monroe tried to stop by a few times, but it happened less and less. I didn't blame her; she had her own life and was an older lady, so driving was becoming an issue for her.

When you are responsible for your little sister, and your job is not only feeding her, getting her dressed for school, and generally taking care of her but also protecting her from the dragon, you stop being a princess and become a warrior.