Page 6 of Taken By Sin

That it could give me hope.

A home.

A family.

The door is cracked open, a warm lantern glowing softly on the desk. I grasp it tightly, attempting to steady my breathing as I navigate the unknown area of filing cabinets.

D... E.... F.

Deep breath. I pull the drawer open, the metal creakingin protest. A little sticker with my name Finley, Magnolia is attached to the top of a manilla folder that's tucked in the back.

The edges of the folder are frayed with age, looking ancient next to the other girls' pristine ones.

I carefully grab it, scared that if I clutch it to my chest it will erupt into dust.

Terrified I'll see something I don't want to.

Over my eighteen years, I've conjured various ideas about my parents. As a small child, I would sit alone in my room, crafting bedtime stories about them since no one was there to read to me. They were successful astronauts who became pregnant but couldn’t take a baby to the moon, so they brought me here.

That would be the only responsible thing to do because I didn’t think they made baby astronaut suits.

When I was a pre-teen, and my hope began to dwindle with every girl who got a family, they were lost at sea. Forever wading the water in hopes of coming back to me.

They were spies when I was a teenager, living dangerous lives on the run, hunting bad guys and finding treasure.

When I was seventeen, I stared out the window to watch the moon dance with the stars. Long past the adolescent fantasies, I laughed at how I once thought they were living there. But that didn't stop me from telling the moon goodnight, just like I do and have done since I decided they were astronauts when I was seven years old.

The sisters don't approve of fantasy or wild thoughts, but they've always been respectful of letting us imagine those who gave us up are better than they really are.

I open the folder and unfurl the dusty papers, revealing the truth.

I have plenty of photographs over the years, but the one I'm holding now is the only one not taken as an orphan.

A little baby, bundled in a pink blanket and wrapped in the arms of two proud parents.

Okay, I'm lying.

I still don't have a photograph of me before I was an orphan.

It's just me alone, a little tiny baby, being held by the sisters for a documentation photo. Sister Paloma is in this photo, and it makes my heart squeeze in anguish. She was what made this place a home when I was a kid, she passed when I was nine. That is when the darkness crept in, when I started to see the chipped paint for what it really was.

It's incredible how one person could make me believe I was living in a castle, instead of a fortress.

I look content, with red cheeks and a wide gaze.

I stare at the photo for endless moments, shaking my head.

When I get the courage to search through the papers in the folder, government documents show me the harsh truth.

CPS took me from my parent’s care, an extensive list of their wrongdoings laid out in arrest dates. Child Protective Services visited their home three times before one fateful night.

The results of it bring tears to my eyes. Both dead from drug overdoses. No other family besides a distant cousin in California that I don’t bother searching for.

Now I know what Sister Catherine meant by ‘It’s better to make your own truth in your mind.’

Because now the harsh reality will forever be engrained in me.

No room left for fantasies, wonder, or hope.

---