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easier. Cut and dried. A few minutes here and there of her

time, a few signatures on a few binding legal documents and

she’d be done.

She didn’t like that images were starting to linger in her

head. Images of Emily. Emily laughing, Emily smiling, Emily

discovering things for the first time. Her stunned outrage at the

buying of eight chickens, leaving none for anyone else. Her

look of pure enjoyment when she bit into that drumstick in the

car. The tender way she’d bent down and petted Mr. Pickles in

the kitchen. Her teary eyes when she considered her family

and her situation. Her hair fanned out golden yellow on the

pillow on the couch, her lithe form tucked under that thrift

store yellow and green afghan. The shining hope in her eyes

when she said her vows, even though they were fake.

What the heck is happening to me?

Those images were not in line with the way Dani shut out

the things she didn’t want to think about or process. Things

she couldn’t change. Like the past. Things she’d had to live

through to get where she was now. She could block those

images out, but she couldn’t cut Emily off. It was like a

livestream into her brain. It felt like an intrusion. Worse was

the way her body reacted to that stream.

Dani had never been able to not control her feelings.

Emotions were dangerous, and she’d always shut them down

pretty fast. She’d never cared about anyone. Never allowed

that, because getting attached when you knew you weren’t

staying, or when they weren’t staying, didn’t make any sense.

Yes, she’d stood up for other foster kids in the past. Defended

them. Even protected them physically. She’d offered a few

hugs here and there, dried a few tears, slipped pilfered granola