Molly sat in “her” room for hours, repeatedly throwing her pillow at the ceiling and letting it fall on her face. What was she thinking? She couldn’t go falling for some random guy! Even if he was sweet…and cute…and smart, and oh, it wasn’t helping!

Rolling over, she screamed into the pillow, the one constant she had in life. In all the foster homes she’d been to, she’d had that old pillow. It was something she’d gotten to keep from her old life…the happy one.

In times like this, Molly found it helpful to talk to herself.
“I can’t like him!”
“Why?”
“Because! Cuz…”
“Because…? Don’t you have anything better than that? He’s a good guy!”
“I know!”
“So what’s your issue?!”
“It’s…it’s…”
“Why are you so scared?”
“Because…”
“You’re afraid to get attached to him. You’re afraid he won’t always be around.”
“Well, no one else has been!” Molly clutched that old pillow, sobbing into it, and collapsed upon her bed in the fetal position, only wishing for someone to hold her.