Prologue

Indya

Age 17

From what I remember, the first seven years of my life were extraordinary. I had a mama and daddy, who not only loved each other, but loved me as well. We went on vacations, had movie nights—we did everything together. I was more than content—I was happy.

Then tragedy struck my happy little family home, like a hurricane on a clear day, shattering the calm and leaving destruction in its wake. First, my daddy passed away; he died in his sleep. All I remember is everyone saying at least he wasn't in pain and went peacefully. It happened so suddenly, it felt like the ground had been ripped out from under us, leaving us in a freefall of grief and disbelief.

The doctors had explained to my mother that he had a rare disease called Pulmonary Alveolar Proteinosis, or PAP. There was a buildup of protein in his lungs, which caused respiratory failure. He had no symptoms leading up to his death, making it all the more shocking. The news hit us like a tidal wave, leaving us gasping for air in a sea of grief. This was the event that set the path I would take for the rest of my life, a path marked by the shadow of his sudden absence.

Three months after daddy died, mama passed away. Her sadness was a constant presence, like a heavy fog that never lifted. She rarely left her room or the house, and her cries echoed through the empty halls. I don't blame her—she had lost the other part of her soul, and the weight of that loss was too much to bear.

One night, I was checking on mama—I was hungry, and the bread was green. As I opened the door, I lifted my shirt over my nose because the smell was terrible in mama's room. It smelled like when she left the clothes in the washing machine too long, mixed with a dirty diaper. Still, I needed her to help me get something to eat, so I continued into her room.

"Come here, sweet girl, come sit by me for a minute," mama says, her arm reaching out to help me. I didn't want to get on her bed—the smell was too strong there, but she picked me up anyway and sat me next to her.

"I want to tell you some things I want you to remember when you are older, okay?" she tells me, her eyes are wet, like she is about to cry.

"Why can't you just tell them to me when I am older, mama? That way, I don't forget anything," I respond, confused. My seven-year-old mind is unable to comprehend what is happening.

"Sometimes we can feel when our time is almost up, and I don't want to leave you, but I would feel better telling you now, just in case I am not around when you are older," mama says sadly. Tears are leaking from her eyes.

"But I don't want you to leave me like daddy did, mama. I want you to stay here with me and love me and hold me like you used to," I cry. Why is she saying this to me? I don't understand.

"I know, sweet girl, I know. But be still and listen to me. Listen really well and hold it in your mind and heart so you never forget, okay?" she says, trying to comfort me.

I nod my head yes, afraid for any words to come from my mouth. The tears are pouring from my eyes, and I try my best to get them to stop so I can give mama all my attention.

"I want you to go after everything you want in life. Make no excuses for why you can not reach any of those goals. I want you to have a beautiful life, make lots of friends, and, most of all, fall in love. Fall in love with people, food, places, everything, and anything. I want you to feel the same love me and your daddy had when he was alive—even now, when he is no longer here.

"When you meet the one you will spend the rest of your life with and raise a family, love him big and love him hard. Love him with all that you are and never give up on that kind of love, understand?" She asks, and when she looks at me, I feel like she can't see me. Her eyes look funny to me right now.

"But how will I know if he is the one I am supposed to spend my life with, mama? How will I know he is the right one and not the wrong one? I ask. I want to make sure I understand everything she is telling me. I want to make sure that I do everything she is asking of me.

"Your heart and soul will know when you find your other half. This person will make you feel whole. You will feel the current of electricity flow from one another's bodies—this is your soul connecting with his. Trust me, sweet girl, you will feel when he is the one," she smiles, which makes me smile back at her. It has been a long time since I have seen her smile.

"I love you, mama. Bigger than the whole sky," I whisper to her.

"I love you big, my sweet, sweet girl. Now, go get in bed, you have school tomorrow," she tells me. She does that sometimes—she gets her days mixed up. It is Saturday, so there is no school tomorrow, still, I do as she says. Even though I am still hungry.

My mama died in her sleep that night; she had a heart attack while she was sleeping. Still to this day, I say she died from a broken heart. The sadness took over her body, and that, mixed with her missing daddy, broke her heart. I remember people saying the same things when mama dies, as they did daddy: ‘At least it was in her sleep, and she felt no pain.' But what they don't understand is that she had been in pain since the day daddy died.

Leaving me to carry the pain of them leaving me alone—no one to love me, no one to hold me, no one to comfort me, and no one to protect me from the evil in this world. The emptiness is a constant ache, a reminder of the love and warmth that once filled our home.

Now, I am seventeen and have lived through hell since the day the lady in the black skirt came and took me to a home full of other kids who had no one, just like me. No mama, no daddy, just alone. The emptiness was a constant companion, a shadow that followed me from one foster home to the next.

Up until this point in my life, I have lived with many families—six, counting this one. I thought things were going okay—not great, but okay—up until my sixteenth birthday. That was when things took a turn for the worse, and the darkness that had always lingered at the edges of my life closed in. The pain and loneliness became unbearable, and it continues to this day.

Being touched in a way that you knew was wrong, especially by someone who was supposed to protect you. He said I would get kicked out and not see my brother and sisters again if I said a word to anyone. I believed him. I let him get away with doing these horrible things to me every single night. He would wait until everyone in the house had been sleeping for a while, then make his way to my room. When he was done fondling me inappropriately, he would remind me of what telling someone would result in.

Until one night, he decided to take it further, leading my mind to an even darker place than it was before. But when it came to light about my pregnancy and I was kicked out of my home, once again, I felt lighter. All the weight I was carrying on my shoulders was lifted, I would no longer be terrified to go to sleep, he could no longer hurt me. I walked out of the house with my caseworker, my head held high.

On the drive to the group home, I remembered every word my mama said to me that night—everything that she wanted for me. Not one of the things my mama wanted for me has happened, apart from my foster siblings. My life has been far from beautiful, and I've never felt the mama dreamed of for me. But despite the pain and heartache, I'm determined to find that love and make my life something truly beautiful.

As I step out of the weathered Toyota Camry, my eyes drift upwards to the night sky. The stars shimmer like diamonds casting their light across the boundless expanse of space. I whisper a prayer to mama and daddy, hoping my words reach them among the celestial whispers.

Please guide me to be a better person for this baby, than those who came after you and daddy. Show me the path to those who will cherish my love and return it wholeheartedly. If you can hear me, lead me to the one who will complete me—I need them now more than ever.