Adopted by The Sidemen

Chapter 1

My first thought when I woke up is- what will happen today? Being in a home for disabled children means something always happens, someone will fall down the stairs because there isn't enough people to keep an eye on everyone, some group will come in and volunteer to help out, or someone'll get fostered out or have a visitor. Lot's happened every day and the only break I got was during the school week, 6 hours a day, 5 times a week, that I could have a break. School wasn't difficult or hard.

Some children still had their birth parents visit them. The only reason the kids are here is because the parents can't look after them, they don't have the funds or time or maybe their house is equipped for their child, but they still care about said child. But sometimes, they decided to have a child and then realized that they were disabled and gave them up. It's amazing to see the kids' faces light up when they see them, their parents I mean, because I see so many children come through this home and never get a visitor, never get adopted, and never even smile. Unfortunately, I'm one of those children.

Sure I don't have a mental disability, at least a diagnosed one (several people have theorized that I have autism) and only a small physical one, but no one wants a 14-year-old girl who stays in her room, sleeps and helps with the kids. I'm a loner. So, for now I'll tell you the whole story. From the beginning.

I was born on the 4th of July 2001. I was born into a happy family, with my parents, Mark and Cecile, and my brother. We were a middle class family, not necessarily rich but not poor either. My birth name was Lily Rose, and I am part Indian, part British, with a thin build, dark skin and thick, wiry black hair. As far as I know my family left India about 60 years ago, when my parents were about 15. They met in London and continued to live there until their deaths in 2008. I was 7.

I was adopted by a set of parents who had lost their daughter and didn't want their two younger children asking questions about where she had gone. They were 5 and 2, the two boys were, when it happened. I think it was really stupid, because how were they going to react when they find out their sister is an imposter and besides, the parents already treat me differently due to the fact that I wasn't their biological child.

Turns out I was right. When the boys found out they were disgusted, and rightly so. So, the parents decided that because they hated me, I was to leave and I was left on the streets. A local care home for mentally and physically disabled children took me in. I've been here for almost 4 years and although I've had some parents consider adopting me they've always changed their minds because of something I did. Most of the time I wasn't even sure what I did, it just kinda happened.

From what I remember of my brother, we looked pretty similar in terms of physical attributes except for my hair and we seemed to have both picked up a reasonably smart brain, because he always seemed to be top of his classes.

But then of course, everything fell apart.

The home was greatest gift anyone had ever given me and being in place where I had someone to turn too, someone to talk when I was feeling down and someone who cared about me. Depression took over my life for a few years, even though it was years and years after my parents died, it took ages to actually hit me properly. They were dead, and not coming back. I was never going to see them again.

After a while I grew used to the fact that I was never going to leave the care home, at least until I turned 18, but even then I wanted to stay and help look after the children who needed more caretakers. I felt like it was my job, to give something back to these children, to these people who had given me something to cling onto when I needed it the most. I wanted to give that to another child, another child who didn't have anywhere to turn to, another child who had been abandoned or left behind like I had been.

If I had wanted to leave, however, the only chance I would ever have was finding my brother or him finding me but after so many years it seemed impossible. He would be 21, almost 22 now, and had probably long moved on from a little sister he hadn't seen in 7 years. Maybe he had a girlfriend, a career, maybe he was still in university. He had always been the smart one so he if was getting a doctorate or a masters degree I wouldn't exactly be surprised. He probably wasn't looking for me.

I tried not to think about it often. I had no hope that he would find anymore so I tried to pretend it wasn't a lingering idea in the back of my head, that one day he would come and find me, take me back to London, give me a new life.

No. It wasn't going to happen.