Adoption- a New Beginning

Goodbye isn’t forever

"Why did she have to leave us so soon?"

That was the question Amy found herself asking for the last 4 years. A question that appeared on the shocking day when their mum was in a hit and run, a time that will be burned in both of the girls' memories for the rest of their lives.

Amy was sitting on her bed clutching the only thing she had from her childhood, a photograph, its edges soft from years of anxious fingers. A little girl sat on a sofa beside a smiling boy—someone she barely remembered, someone who felt important even though his name refused to surface.

Why did she keep it?

Was it the safety it held—laughter bouncing off walls, the smell of dinner drifting through the house, their mum calling them from the blanket forts she let them build? Or was it the boy? Did he mean something more? Someone she was meant to remember? Someone tied to her future?

The boy felt familiar. That frightened her more than forgetting.

Across the room, Chloe was movement and noise, a blur of limbs and breathless energy as she crammed clothes into a battered pink suitcase. Its lone wheel protested with a sharp squeal. Chloe didn't stop. She never did. Silence scared her, so she drowned it with motion.

"Do you think we'll get our own room?" Chloe asked, voice too bright, eyes giving her away.

Amy didn't answer right away. She stared out the window instead.

The garden still whispered of their mum—the white roses climbing the fence, lilies tangled with daisies in the flowerbed, the chipped birdbath she'd promised to fix. Spring frozen mid-promise. The faint scent of flowers carried memories of the shop their mum used to take them to, hands warm, smile tired but real, and the faint memory of their mums dream of running her own flower shop.

"I don't know," Amy finally said. Her voice cracked. "Maybe," holding the panic under her voice.

Chloe snapped the suitcase shut and climbed onto the bed, bouncing once like she used to when things felt wrong. "It'll be okay," she said, trying to believe it. "The lady said they're nice. Maybe we'll get adopted—together."

Amy nodded, gripping the photograph harder. "We have to. Mum would want that."

The silence thickened.

Downstairs, floorboards creaked beneath Mrs. Dawes' footsteps. The social worker's presence filled the house without warming it. The walls stayed quiet. Empty.

Amy's breath caught.

It started slow, then all at once. The air grew heavy, crushing her chest like someone was sitting on it. The room shrank. The walls leaned in. Her hands shook. Her legs followed. The posters blurred, twisting into shapes she didn't recognise. The room wasn't hers anymore. It wasn't safe.

Dark crept in from the edges of her vision. A high-pitched ringing screamed in her ears. Then—lavender.

Her mum's perfume.

Chloe noticed immediately. She always did.

"Hey," she murmured, crossing the room and taking Amy's hand. "Breathe, Ames. In and out. With me."

Amy tried. In. Out. Again. Her heart slammed against her ribs, then slowly—slowly—began to calm. Panic attacks had become frequent since the funeral. Sirens. Shattered glass. Sudden quiet, and the doctors saying the words nobody including no child would want to hear and that being that their only family member was gone. Grief didn't ask permission.

When Amy finally steadied, Chloe smiled, small and fierce. "See? You're okay. We've got each other."

Amy and Chloe had only really had each other, going from one family's house to the next. But never being there long enough to call it home, as every single time Amy and Chloe found themselves having to leave due to Amy's panic attacks. And their dad was really never in the picture, leaving when both girls were not even old enough to remember his face.

All their close family either was not with them or had turned their back on them. Their dad left, Their mum was gone.

Amy nodded, a tear slipping free. "Always."

"Girls?" Mrs. Dawes called. "It's time."

Time.

As if time hadn't already taken everything.

Amy stood on shaking legs, scanning the room. The band poster they used to dance to with Mum. The one-eared rabbit she'd been given at birth, along with the story of how it lost its ear. The lavender candle that smelled like safety. Like home.

Their sanctuary.

Now just a house. Empty. Echoing.

She tucked the photograph into her backpack, zipped it closed, and whispered goodbye. The garden outside no longer felt like theirs. Just another place holding memories that hurt too much to touch.

Chloe's goodbye was louder. Braver. A performance. But as they walked down the hallway, Amy turned back. The bedroom door shrank into the distance, fading like a dream she wouldn't be allowed to keep.

Mrs. Dawes waited by the front door, her smile kind but tired. Her eyes had seen too many of these moments.

"Ready, girls?"

Amy's stomach twisted. Nerves? Or the half-eaten dinner from last night?

Never, she thought.

But Chloe answered anyway. "Yeah." Too quick. Too hopeful.

Rain slapped against the car as the door opened. Wet leaves. Metal. The smell of goodbye. Amy hesitated before climbing in, turning back to the hallway one last time.

Photographs lined the wall. Their mum holding them as toddlers. And beside it—an empty frame. For the sister they never knew. The one who lived only in their mother's eyes and the one they never got to meet.

Amy brushed the frame. "Goodbye."

"She's with Mum now," Chloe whispered, voice shaking. "They're watching."

Amy nodded, biting back tears.

The drive felt endless. Rain hammered the roof. The seats smelled faintly of damp and old grief, like countless other children had cried here before them. Amy's mind raced ahead—what if they were separated? Different homes. Different lives.

Chloe, on the other hand, leaned forward, excitement buzzing beneath her fear.

Will they like me?

"So, Amy," Mrs. Dawes said, glancing into the mirror. "What's your favourite subject in school?"

Amy swallowed. "English."

Mrs. Dawes smiled—but it didn't reach her eyes. Amy looked away just in time to catch the social worker's phone lighting up on the dashboard. A name she didn't recognise.

"I've finished the mission. I've got the girls."

Barely a whisper. Loud enough.

A chill crawled down Amy's spine. Her hands shook. Mission? What mission involved them?

She didn't speak. Couldn't.

Instead, she pulled the photograph from her bag. Studied the boy's face again. And that's when she saw it—a faint scar on his cheek just below his left eye.

She still couldn't remember him.

The car slowed at the end of a long driveway. The building ahead looked ripped from an old black-and-white film—moss-covered bricks, vines clawing up the walls, dark windows that didn't welcome. Five oak trees stood around it like guards.

Hope flickered. Then died.

A sign was nailed to one of the trees.

I am not done with you yet, Amy.

Her breath caught.

The handwriting was familiar.

Kelsey.

Her primary school bully. The girl who had vanished from her life without warning. The girl who knew exactly how to hurt her.

Dread washed over Amy. Kelsey wasn't just someone from her past. She was someone who wanted to ruin her.

"You'll meet Jamie's mum and Hugo's dad," Mrs. Dawes said. "They foster together. I think you'll like them."

Something felt wrong. Too rehearsed. Too neat.

"Jamie?" Chloe whispered, hope lighting her face.

"They're both twelve," Mrs. Dawes said. "Just like you."

"At least we won't be alone," Chloe said.

Amy worried they'd judge her—her panic, her hair, her silence. She remembered Kelsey laughing when she stuttered in class or laughing at her blonde hair with pink tips. The memory twisted her stomach.

The door opened. Lemon-scented air drifted out.

"Amy and Chloe?" A woman with kind eyes smiled. "I'm Mrs. Carter. And this is Mr. Rivera."

Chloe smiled back immediately. Amy forced one.

In the garden, two boys kicked a football beneath tall sunflowers. One waved. The other watched quietly.

"You're the new girls," the taller one said. "Wanna play?"

Chloe didn't hesitate. Amy lingered—until the quieter boy spoke.

"You can be on my team."

Something loosened in her chest.

She nodded.

Laughter followed. Sunlight broke through clouds. For a moment, it felt almost normal.

"You're really good," the boy said later.

Amy blinked. "At football?"