My name is Claire, and I grew up drifting through foster homes, moving so often I learned not to unpack or get too attached. By the time I reached my last group home, I’d accepted that stability wasn’t meant for me. Then I met Noah—a quiet boy in a wheelchair who spent afternoons by the window watching the world go by. I sat beside him one day, joked about sharing the view, and he smiled. From that moment, we became each ak other’s constant.
We grew up side by side, sharing late-night talks, inside jokes, and an unspoken promise that we were family by choice. When we aged out of the system, we left together with our lives in plastic bags, uncertain of adulthood but sure we’d face it as a team. We found a tiny apartment, worked multiple jobs, enrolled in community college, and built a life from thrifted furniture and determination.
