Always, Darling

Chapter 1

~ Ｎ Ａ Ｄ Ｉ Ａ ~

Sixteen Years Later

Ever since I can remember, I've always had an obsession with fairy tales. Maybe it was the promise of a happily ever after or maybe it was the possibility of finding someone who would love you unconditionally, a feeling that I had long forgotten in my fifteen years of life.

Nevertheless, I was drawn to these stories. I once had a childlike dream of creating my own everlasting story—finding my own happy ending—but after years of disappointment, I realized that some people would never achieve this. It was simply not written into their lives.

And I was one of those people.

In my fifteen years, I had spent eight in either orphanages or foster homes in my home country of Haiti. The Saint family was my latest placement, and although they weren't the kindest, they weren't the worst family I had stayed with.

Mr. and Mrs. Saint were like most foster parents from my experience. They saw me not as an addition to their family but as free labor. They already had two children of their own who they loved and cherished, and they simply didn't have the resources to provide for me. Or at least they chose not to provide for me.

The Saints were able to buy their children new clothes and shoes while I continued to wear my broken flip-flops that were a size too small and hand-me-down clothes that were a few sizes too big. There were times when I went days with nothing to eat but leftover scraps from the Saints' plates. I wasn't one to complain, though. I was grateful for the shelter and education they provided for me. It was more than what I would get at the orphanage.

The Saints were strict disciplinarians who believed that if punishment wasn't dealt out immediately, then children would become spoiled with no sense of purpose.

Not that they were like that with their own children.

I was always the one blamed when dirty plates were left in the sink or when the laundry wasn't done. The Saints would then punish me, either with a physical punishment or a few hits with the belt. I wasn't sure if the Saints were allowed to punish me like this, but I also didn't question it. The risk of being put in a worse home was too great that I never complained to my social worker, Courtney LeDoux. I didn't think there was much she could do about it anyways. I was fifteen, much too old to be adopted. She just needed to find me a home that would house me until I turned eighteen. Then, I would no longer be my country's problem. I would be thrown to the streets, left to fend for myself.

There was a time when I had someone to care for me other than myself, but it hurt too much to remember. To remember the mother who had succumbed to drug addiction that plagued the slums I used to live in. That even though she loved me dearly, I was simply not enough to make her quit.

I wasn't enough for her.

It was a normal summer day in Port-au-Prince. I was out in the burning sun doing the family's laundry, crouched on the dirt ground with two buckets of soapy and plain water in front of me, a pile of clothes on the other side. A long clothesline was hung in front of me to dry the clothes in the sun.

I wiped the sweat from my brow, ignoring the dry feeling in my throat from not having any water all day. My hair was matted on top of my head. Mama, on her good days, would say, Nadia, you should take pride in your appearance, so take care of your hair and dress properly. You won't get anywhere looking like a beggar.

There wasn't much I could do about my hair unless I took a bath, but the Saints didn't like me using their clean water. It was reserved for them and their children, Joseph and Michelline. I was only allowed to use it when the Saints decided I looked too dirty to be seen with them in public or when Courtney stopped by for a visit.