Ever since I was six, I've been through numerous foster homes. I turn eighteen in a month. I was six years old the day we left for Zambia. My parents were both missionaries, so at only six years old my passport was over halfway filled. Japan, South America, Europe; I'd been tons of places.
September tenth, two thousand and four. One of the most devastating, memorable crashes since. I was the only survivor. You might think reading this now, why hasn't anyone adopted me? Or maybe why am I not famous? Nobody knows. Nobody knows there was only one survivor. Everyone thinks there were no survivors. Here I am. Nobody knows my true identity.
YOU ARE READING
A Different Kind of Love Story
RomanceHe held out his hand and introduced himself. "My name is Tyler." I shook his hand. "My name is Rachel, but call me Claire. Claire Engstrom." He gave me a look. "Nice to meet you, Claire."
