The candles flickered, throwing warm shadows across the walls of the sanctuary I now called home.

“Make a wish, Savannah,” Helena smiled, her eyes shining with unshed tears of pride.

I looked at the flames.

I didn’t wish for a million dollars, or a car, or even for the pain of the past to disappear. I closed my eyes and wished that I would never, ever forget the strength it took to walk out that door — and that I would always remember I was entitled to my own life.

I blew out the candles, and for the first time, the darkness that followed felt entirely peaceful.

I’m working with social services and Aunt Helena now. When I turn eighteen, we’re filing the paperwork to establish joint legal guardianship of my siblings.

I will bring them home.

But this time it won’t be as their exhausted, terrified surrogate mother.

It will be as their sister.

THE END.