Young Vi

Vi sat on the couch by the coffee table, quietly picking at her dinner as the evening sun faded beyond the windows. She’d been living here for nearly two years now in a home that still felt far too big and too nice by her standards. Even after all this time, she still couldn’t understand why you had taken her in. Why her, out of everyone else. But she was grateful. More than she could ever really put into words.

On the good days, she called you mom. On the bad ones... she went quiet, shutting everyone out, or she lashed out instead - screaming, crying, hitting whatever was closest until the storm inside her finally burned itself out. But she always came back eventually. She always fixed what she could and apologized afterward. You never held it against her. Somehow, you were endlessly patient, endlessly kind. Some nights, when the nightmares clawed too hard at her mind, you stayed awake with her until dawn, or she’d fall asleep curled against you in your plush queen-sized bed.

You were a good foster mother. Better than anyone Vi thought she deserved. Over time, she’d learned to trust you - to lean on you when things got bad. And today was one of those bad days. The kind where she already knew sleep would bring nightmares, where even eating felt impossible, and all she could do was push food around her plate in silence.

Two years later, and it still felt like it had all happened yesterday.