The law said I was a runaway.
I preferred the term survivor.
After being broken down and emotionally tortured for fifteen years, I made a choice to change the path that my life was on.
It left me alone, homeless and scared, but alive.
The streets were where I found my family. A group of kids like me who society had failed to protect.
We weren’t teenagers anymore – we were a statistic, a nuisance, the scum on the bottom of the city’s shoe.
When he showed up that night, I never expected to feel the things I did.
He was honest and protective and he saw straight through the hardened exterior that I had created.
He made me want to fight for something better.
I could run, go back to the street and continue risking my life just to live.
But now, being offered something more, I wasn’t sure if I could go back without at least a taste of what it was like.
We came from two completely different worlds, but they were about to collide. And I was about to learn that maybe the grass really wasn’t that much greener on the other side.