The ball of his feet. Synthetic material. One toe poking out of the sheet, the other foot pressing lightly against my calf. Things feels strange all the time now. I try not to stir him. The lawyer will call in an hour but we’ll both ignore our phones. We’re having an ‘us’ day. Our last day, together. I wonder if sleeping is a waste of time. He snores softly beside me and I suppose not.

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Family ties

Can things that were once bad for you, ever really become good?

This is one the things I’ve had to consider since coming back, recalling how I always struggled to feel like a part of the family when I was growing up. Most of my time was spent plotting how to eventually get away for good; a motivator that propelled me to succeed in certain areas, in order to reach my ultimate goal of living far, far away from the life I knew.

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Who am I?

I was the victim of identity theft when I was eight years old. I know what you’re thinking (I always know because I have made you up in my head, Reader); why would someone steal an eight year olds identity? Perhaps to smuggle child labourers into the country? Or to fake an adoption of a kidnapped child? Hmm OK, this has taken a dark turn, so I’ll just say what actually happened.

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