My name is Claire, and for as long as I can remember, permanence was a foreign concept. Childhood, for me, was a patchwork of foster homes, social workers, and revolving doors. Each placement brought a new room, a new set of rules, a new that could disappear overnight. I learned quickly: carry only what fits in your arms, trust only what you can see, and never expect anyone to stay. My backpack was heavy not with possessions but with caution and fear. Every goodbye left a scar, every relocation a lesson…
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