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When I turn eight, I don’t get any birthday cards or a cake like the other kids in the orphanage—I sit under the bed with a drawing of my spider and imagine a crowd of people singing happy birthday to me, and we blow out candles that I draw. I close my eyes and make a wish. I wish someone would choose me.
She won’t be taken from me. I’ll make sure of it. I’ll be good. I’ll do as I’m told. I’ll be the kid they obviously needed to complete their family. Olivia. My new little sister. I couldn’t protect my mom or Rex, but I think I could protect her. I will protect her. Because she’s mine.
“Why did you attack Adam in the gas station? We were just talking, and you stormed in and went crazy.” He was trying to take what was mine. “I’m not yours,” she replies, and the world goes dark. She keeps talking, making the hole in my chest grow more hollow. “I’m your sister—that’s all. We’re the Vize kids.” No. You were mine when we were kids, and you’re mine now. You’ll always be mine.
Even if she tells me to leave, I won’t. I’m hers and only hers, even if she doesn’t fucking want me.

