I had done it. I had run away. There was no turning back, but even if I did, my stupid foster family wouldn’t want me. I had sworm to my blood, slit my arm to seal the note. I didnt know what I was really called. I had always despised the name Silivia.With that hiss, every time I was called I knew it wasn’t good so I gave myself a name. Dew Cresent. That was my mother’s maiden name. And I was going to find my brother, confront him, and make him pay for our mother’s seperation, so I went to my sister, only seven years younger, at the age of eight, she had understood everything. She had understood that Stef had slashed our mother. But he had a reason for that. She was drugs, and couldn’t stop. Stef got frustrated and did it. Right infront of me, when I was nine, holding Baby Misty, both crying. Stef was a fourteen years old high school graduate.
“Mother never loved us. She loved those icky white pills.” Misty said.