When I was ten years old, I was told that I was to live with my Auntie Amelia. I had never met my Auntie Amelia, didn't even know she existed until that day. When I left Jenny and Levi's, they had both been crying, clearly sad to let me go. What didn't sit right with me was how unphased Jenny had been when answering the door that morning. As if she was expecting Mr. Martin to be standing there.


I will forever be grateful that I had Jenette and Levi in my life, even for a short while. In those measly four years, I learnt what it meant to be part of a family. But at ten years old, after being torn away from my family, I hated my foster parents. I felt betrayed. Lied to. I trusted them when they had said they'd keep me safe and believed them when I was told I would soon be adopted. They broke my heart.


Auntie Amelia wasn't so bad. She told me she was my father's sister and that was all. Whenever I tried to bring up the conversation of my family about where I came from, she would change the subject. After a while I stopped trying. As curious as I was, I didn't really care. After the shock of moving had passed and I settled into my new life, I quite enjoyed living with my long-lost Auntie.


As I grew older, I started to see more and more similarities between Amelia and myself. My hair darkened and developed a slight wave, exactly like hers. Throughout puberty our figures were even identical. And our laughs were so alike that her boyfriend, Dean, would joke about not being able to tell our voices apart when he wasn't looking.


I thought about Jenette and Levi regularly over the years. Wandered what they were doing or if they still lived in the same house. I wondered if they had fostered anyone else or even had children of their own. I wondered if they thought about me. Even more so, I thought about Oliver Westley. The boy with the orange hair and the lisp that I had left behind.


The day that I had left Keeruwi Place, I had asked Mr. Martin if I would be able to speak to Oliver again. Now, I can't even remember what his reply was. I know that if he had said yes, Oliver and I would be talking right now. It used to hurt a lot when I thought about my best friend. My chest would ache, my lungs felt too empty and sometimes, I was sure I would throw up. It doesn't hurt so much anymore. I still get sad, though.