Your POV

I sit on the Joseph's couch, Tyler by my side, his parents on the other and a police officer standing in front of us, looking down at Mr and Mrs Joseph.

"Do you know how long this has been going on?" Everyone looks to me and I gulp.

"A month after my mother died," I mumble.

The rest of the conversation is a blur, until it gets to finding a place for me to stay.

"Do you have any family?" The officer asks me in a kind voice.

I shake my head. "They're either dead with my mother or too far away. Don't you dare think you're going to send me to them, I'm not leaving this place."

"Y/N, you have no family here. You're going to have to leave-"

"No!" I shout at him, hoping he'll get the message.

"Y/N-"

"Let her stay with us," Mrs Joseph cuts the officer off. The four of us turn our heads to her. "She's already part of the family to us. I've always thought of her as one of my own children. Please, officer." There's not a single hint of negativity in her voice.

When you're abused, you begin to think if anyone actually wants you anymore. So to hear that somebody wants me in their home, in their life, left me speechless.

The officer sighs, giving up. "I'll bring the paperwork 'round this evening." With that, he leaves.

I turn to Tyler who beams down at me.

"You're going to be my sister!"

~Time skip~

"I hope the spare room is good enough for you for now," Mrs Joseph says as she opens the door to the spare room.

It doesn't have much in it. It has an old wardrobe that would probably take me to Narnia, a wooden bed with grey sheets and pillows, and two old, white bedside tables on either side with dusty, boring lamps.

The lack of decoration on the plain white walls just makes the room seem even more dull, along with the light grey carpet.

Although it's not pleasing, it feels like heaven to me. I could be in a much worse situation.

I could be far away from home with family I've never met.

I could be at an orphanage surrounded by strangers, waiting impatiently for someone to want me and take me to a new home.

Or worse, I could still be in my father's grasp, living in pain and fear.

I turn and wrap my small arms around Mrs Joseph's waist.

"Thank you, Mrs Joseph." Tears soak her flowery blouse.

"Don't call me Mrs Joseph anymore."

"Thank you... Ma."