They say pain makes you stronger.
Maybe that's true. Or maybe it just teaches you how to hide better—hide the bruises, the memories, the parts of yourself that still scream in the dark.
I still remember the smell of cinnamon.
It clung to my mum's scarf the night she and dad were getting ready for their weekly Friday night dinner—my dad in his favorite navy jacket, my mom kissing my forehead with a smile that lit up the whole room.
"But why can't I come with you guys, mum?" five-year-old me asked with pouty lips and teary eyes.
"Because mummy and daddy need some alone time, Pumpkin, but I'm sure you'll have loads of fun with Nanny", my dad said from behind me while giving me a playful head rub.
My mum walked over to him and gave him a gentle kiss. Typical Mr. and Mrs. Vale.
"Ew, ew…ew!" I screeched and covered my eyes.
They both laughed and kissed again.
"That's just gross." I said while making barf noises.
"Amelia, sweetheart, come pick a game," Nanny called from the living room.
I ran off to Nanny who was in the living room trying to select a board game for us to play.
"Candy Land!" I grinned. That's the one mum always loses.
Nanny laughed. "Maybe tonight I'll let you win, just to keep the tradition alive."
"Promise?" I tilted my head up at her.
"I swear on my secret chocolate stash."
From the hallway, I heard heels click and my dad's deep voice chuckle. My parents stepped into the living room, ready to head out.
"We won't be long baby," Mum said. "Be good for Nanny"
"I always am." I said proudly. "Can you get me gummy bears on your way back?"
"Of course!", dad replied. "Anything else, Your Highness?"
I shook my head, "Just hurry back."
Mum smiled "Always." They started to leave.
"Don't forget my gummy bears on your way back!" I called out as they walked out the door.
They never came back.
The police said it was instant. A truck. A red light. Too fast. Too late. I didn't understand the words—just that my parents weren't coming home.
I remember standing in front of two caskets that looked too big for the people inside them. I remember reaching for mum's scarf, but it didn't smell like cinnamon anymore. Just dust.
That was the moment the world stopped feeling safe.
What followed was a foster home that smelled like bleach and old wood. Too many kids, too few beds, and nights that felt colder than the air. I didn't have any friends – No! I didn't want any friends. All I wanted more than anything was to see my parents again. I didn't want to believe that they were gone for good. I still had hope, still waited for them to come back and get me out of this place. I stared out the window for hours. Hours turned into days, days into weeks and weeks into months until it became a reality that I would never see them again.
I despised the foster home but I would have hated it a lot more if I hadn't met Caleb, the brown-haired, wide-eyed boy with a chipped tooth and a grin that made the place feel a little less cold. He wasn't like the others. He didn't ask questions. He just sat next to me a lunch and slid a juice box in my direction without saying a word. After that we spent every minute of every day together. In a house full of noise, he was the only thing that felt steady. The first real friend I ever had.
When I was six, a family came. A mother who smiled too much and a father whose eyes were kind—at first. They said I was lucky. Chosen. Special.
I was sad that I was leaving Caleb behind at first. At eight years old, he still hadn't been adopted. But later the sadness turned into excitement and curiosity for this new chapter of my life. New parents? That sounded so strange but yet I was excited to have a family again. To feel the love and warmth that only family could give. I felt lucky indeed.
But luck has a twisted sense of humor.
Their house was quiet, but not safe. The nights became a maze of closed doors and fake smiles. And over the years, I learnt how to disappear without ever leaving.
By sixteen, I couldn't take it anymore.
I left a note on the pillow. Walked out with nothing but a backpack and a number—a friend from a home I barely remembered, but who had once called me "sister" and meant it.
I vanished that night. Not into the dark, but into survival.