“…My father disappeared from my life shortly afterward. I entered foster care with one backpack, two shirts, and a pair of shoes that pinched my toes.”
The woman in white closed her laptop.
“When I was eleven years old, my mother died…”
The captain continued.
“Birthdays stopped meaning much after that. In foster care, they can pass like any other date. Sometimes the adults are busy. Sometimes records are wrong. Sometimes nobody knows.”
Mrs. Clooney stared at the speaker above her seat.
“On my twelfth birthday, I came home from school and found an envelope on my bed.”
The plane seemed to narrow around his voice.
“There was no present inside. No money. No gift card.”
“Birthdays stopped meaning much after that.”
