My mother-in-law pointed at the door during New Year’s dinner and snapped, **“If you don’t like my rules, get out!”** – Welcome

into foster care when I was six.”

“I know.”

“I slept in eight different houses before I turned twelve.”

His mouth trembled.

“I know.”

“I went to bed hungry.”

He looked away.

“I wore shoes until the soles split open.”

I swallowed the insult forming in my throat.

“And you lived here?”

Thomas began to cry.

“Don’t cry like this happened to you.”

He flinched. “You’re continue reading …