Foster Sisters Novels & Stories

“I’m so sorry. That must have been hard, losing another parental figure.” “It was.” I sniff. “Bas and I were worried they might send us back. I mean, our foster brothers have all moved out, and suddenly our foster dad was left with two teenagers to care for. But he’s been amazing. His sister and her daughter moved in to help, and we’re an even bigger family now. It’s better than I ever imagined it could be.” “When Bas and I both got accepted here, they decided to come too, to use it as an excuse to have a fresh start.” I shrug.

The rest would stay and get to experience the cycle again. My foster sister ran away and I didn't know why. Not at first. A year had passed now and my foster parents had become Sober again. Smiling faces, kind words, never missing church. Two more kids came to join us, making four. Two girls this time. The period of peace lasted longer, maybe four months, during which another kid was adopted. And then the cycle began again.

She was processed as a Jane Doe and sent to a medical school for dissection, the only useful thing she ever did. Vanessa's foster parents didn't fare much better. The Carter Group boxed them in at every turn and the Bennett Group didn't last long. The money ran out, the company collapsed, and the debts piled up. I took back the house and every property that had been given to them. Her foster mother knelt in front of me and begged, crying and wiping her nose. "Sandra, I'm your grandmother! You can't do this to me!" I looked down at her face. It meant nothing to me.

Foster Home 1 I stepped out of the social worker's car, my backpack slung over one shoulder, and stared at the house in front of me. It was a nice place, two stories with a wraparound porch and flower beds blooming bright in the afternoon sun. Not like the group homes I had bounced through for years. At eighteen, I was aging out of the system, but they said I needed stability before I went off on my own. Mark and Sarah Thompson were my last shot. The social worker, Ms. Ramirez, patted my arm. "They seem nice. Give it a chance, Lila."

My mother's eyes shone with tears as she held them close, her heart overflowing with gratitude. "I can't begin to express my debt to you," she whispered, her voice trembling. "You took in a lost, scared child and loved her as your own. You gave her a home, a family, and a sense of belonging. I'm forever grateful." My foster parents' eyes welled up with tears as they hugged my mother back, a deep emotional connection forming between them. They had loved me as their own, and now, they were embracing my mother, their love and gratitude bridging the gap between them.

I'm not a killer or anything, I'm just a girl who's been through enough shit. Even though the state paid my adopted family to take care of me, they didn't at all. I had to prepare my meal in most of the households. Margaret had done the best she could to find reliable and healthy foster families for me to live with, but they would save their true intentions for when the paperwork was finished and filed. She is a really sweet woman that has always treated me with kindness and respect. Sometimes It felt like she was more of a mother figure towards me than anyone else has ever been. It's stupid to say, and I know she was just clearly doing her job, but as a child, I really needed and appreciate

Although they would be watched very closely and if their entitled attitude was to return then they would be removed instantly and spend the rest of the weekend in a cell. I smiled as I saw my father and ma standing speaking to my foster parents. I had learnt that Teresa and Jeremy, although human, were sent by the moon Goddess to act as my guardians, and I couldn't have been happier to have been gifted with two such wonderful people to bring me up. My father had been indebted to them for looking after me and offered them a place in their pack that they had accepted. I approached them and hugged them all. "Pappa, Ma, it is so good to see you again," I said, hugging my father and Olivia.

No one knew where she was or what she was doing; no one could find her. I spent my life in foster homes, group homes and halfway houses. Bet you didn't know that, did you? When you're older, after your foster parents stop caring for foster children and you're too old for group homes, they put you in halfway houses with kids who are mostly criminals. There's just no room for you anywhere else.

"But you're still my family. I treated you as my little sister. My parents treated you as you're their daughter. I know we were the same age but I've been wishing you would call me a 'brother'. And it happened. But please don't think that I didn't treat you like my own family." "I never said that you didn't treat me like your own family. You're the one who just said that," I said coldly. I built my imaginative wall. My foster parents, whose parents adopted me and treated me like their own daughter, and Storm, treated me like his little sister. He never had any siblings. They said I came from another pack they didn't know.

She enjoyed showing off at the meetings she attended. Personally, I found the meetings boring and pointless. Why gather every month to gist and eat? When Mum it was Mum's turn to host the meeting, Lily and I would be servers and cleaners, cleaning up after middle aged women. Mum's defense of their meetings is a speech narrating how the association feeds orphans. I argued that you could feed orphans without the fancy attire and monthly gathering. My eyelids felt like they weighed a thousand pounds. I was still drunk and my mouth was dry. I sipped milk from my spoon, cornflakes floated on the white sea in my bowl like tiny ships.