Skya
It was hard, but I made it. Coming to terms with my parent's death wasn't easy, but I did it, didn't I? A knock on the door. My adoptive mother, Louisa, whom I didn't know was not my real mother until about 5 weeks ago. She was just checking on me, but I didn't care. I hadn't spoken a word to her or Chris (my supposed father) since I found out I was adopted. How do you hide that from someone you've been taking care of for 17 years? They told me that my biological parents died when I was 2, and when I didn't remember them, they just figured it was better to conceal the truth. Even though I didn't remember them, I still had to come to terms with their passing. I saw the old photos. My mom, Joyce, holding me in a hospital bed. My dad, Ellis, teaching me how to walk. Their smiles, so bright and beautiful. And then more pictures. But they weren't the same. Louisa smiling at me as I played with toys. Chris sitting with me and Layla. Layla's my older sister. Or at least I thought she was. She's 22; adopted at 12. At least she got to know that. I never did. Until now, when I was digging through the attic and found the photos. I screamed at my "parents" until I was purple, and ran to my room screaming and crying. They died in a car accident - I was in the backseat. It was a head-on collision, and somehow I survived. They never made it out. I lost my memory in that accident. Everything I ever had of them was gone. Except for the stupid pictures, of course, but Louisa and Chris never bothered to show me.
