Chapter Text
I never really felt like I was a good daughter. Well, I guess that’s not actually true. I never felt good enough, at least. Part of that, I know, comes from my upbringing, but really, who could ever feel good enough with a father like mine. Wait, no, ok, that makes him sound horrible. He’s not, at all, I mean – he treats me wonderfully, but he’s so… geez, I don’t know. Let me just start at the beginning, and you’ll see what I mean.
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Six years old, I was living in an orphanage with twenty other children and six caretakers. It wasn’t like in the movies – dark and depressing, with an old lady who treats us like animals. It was fine, really. I just wished for something more. As you can imagine, while it may have been pleasant enough at the Alexandra House, I would have been much more satisfied in a home with parents.
June 20th of the year I turned seven, two men applied for a child. I was in the nurse’s office behind reception when they came, so I listened curiously to the conversation between them and the main caretaker, Audrey. They exchanged greetings with an air of formality before Audrey began questioning them regarding the child they desired. Standard inquiries, so I started to tune out the conversation, but my attention was quickly brought back when the first man when he interrupted Audrey, stating, “We’re not actually looking for a particular age or gender. Could we, actually, ask a few questions of each child?”
Audrey looked slightly taken aback – understandably, as normally anyone who came in here for a child knew just what “kind” of child they were looking for, as objectifying as it was. Sometimes the prospective parents talked to two or three children to get a sense of their personality, but never had anyone wanted to talk to every child.
“Er, yes, of course. That would be fine” Audrey stammered, “this way, please”
She led them to the small office down the hall, to where I could no longer hear them converse. Leaning back on the small, uncomfortable nurse-office-cot, I practiced a greeting in my head. Impressing prospective parents was not my strong suit, but I figured I’d give myself a chance. My nurse walked back into the room, smiling gently as she held up the bandaging she’d retrieved.
“Let’s get that knee patched up, shall we?”
I winced in pain as she dabbed my injury with alcohol before wrapping it up, and the couple was pushed from my mind until later that day.