"And this is Rebecca. She's, well, one of the more quieter ones" One of the more quieter ones. That's how my foster carer labelled me ever since the day I was born.
I spent 3 years in that shit hole, constantly being rejected family after family.
I never knew much about my real mother or father, but I knew enough. I guess the little I did know helped me understand why they left me in here. They both traveled a lot with their jobs, a baby following them everywhere would only interrupt their lifestyle they were so used to. However a part of me always hoped they would some day come looking for me, even just to say hello. Or even maybe a proper goodbye.
Fortunately for me, at the age of 3 I was taken in by a loving family, the Elliot's.
Being so young, it didn't take much time for me to settle in. They already had 5 children, the youngest at the time being Max who was 8, then there was Sarah 9, John 12, Kevin 14 and Dean 17. We all lived in a 3 storey house just outside London.
We were all a happy little family until I was 12 years old.
8 days after my birthday, my foster parents decided they weren't meant for each other and announced their separation. They were the only parents I knew and now I'd have to divide my visits with both of them, it just really didn't seem fair for any of us. I blamed myself for tearing them apart, an extra child to feed, take care of, worry about. And I was frightened the others would suddenly turn on me and blame me too, but thankfully not. It wasn't easy for any of us, but we helped each other through it and never let it get to us.
