[WP] Millennia ago a witch cursed your family with bad luck for 1000 generations. You are a child of the 1001st generation and the universe is trying to compensate for your ancestors’ misfortune. [Link to post.]
“… and here’s your room.” Mrs. Garza, a foster mom with short, dark hair, finished giving Victor the grand tour. She smiled down at the eight-year-old child. “Any questions?” Victor shook his head without taking his eyes off the room; the disturbed air rustled his fluffy blond hair. The walls were bare white, but one corner held a large wooden desk equipped with a top of the line computer. A 50″ TV hung on the wall in front of the bed. He looked up meeting Mrs. Garza’s dark brown eyes for the first time.
“And I don’t gotta share??” he asked. Mrz. Garza patted his hair down.
“Whoooooooaaa.” The boy ran inside the sparse room and leaped on the bed. He giggled while laying flat on the mattress and bouncing his body up and down against it. “Thank you!” he yelled between giggles.
“Dinner’s in an hour, how does pizza sound?” she asked. The squeaking springs stopped immediately and the boy sat up with a giant grin.
“Pepperoni!” he yelled, then relaxed his body to start bouncing again. Mrs. Garza laughed, then closed the door to Victor’s room as she walked away. She found her husband in the kitchen working on his laptop.
“I like him,” she said as she sat down next to him. Her husband responded without looking up.
“You like all of them, that’s why we do it,” he said.
“No, but it’s different. He’s different. I want to adopt him.” He stopped typing, then took off his reading glasses and looked his wife in the eye.
“He just got here,” he reasoned. She nodded, then reached for his hand.
“He just got here, and listen.” She pointed to the ceiling. Mr. Garza heard faint squeaks. “He’s having fun. He ignored the TV and computer you set up for him. The bed excited him!” She smiled, but her husband’s brow furled slightly. He gave a faint nod.
“The matron did say he was a bit slow,” he began, but Mrs. Garza squeezed his hand hard until he stopped talking.
“That’s not what I mean!” she said with traces of fire in her voice. “He’s eight, and already had a harder, and more interesting life than most people.” She pulled on his hands to turn his full attention to her. His body shifted and they locked eyes. “His mom died while she was giving birth, who does that happen to?” she asked.
“Lots of people?” her husband asked, unsure.
“Obviously, but you know what I meant, idiot.” She slapped the side of his shoulder. “An injured gunman demanded care, and shot his mom while she was birthing him. In the hospital!” she said.
“Sounds unlucky,” he chuckled cautiously. Enjoying the humor, but not wanting to make light of the situation.
“Then he spent the first eight years of his life in the system. No one adopted him, we’re his first foster family. Eight years in a boy’s home, but now he’s here. I feel like he’s meant to be here. We can give him a good home.” Mr. Garza stared into his wife’s watery eyes, and knew she needed this. He never knew the reason, but after 20 years of marriage, he learned to understand her.
“He just got here. Let’s see how we function as a family before we make any decisions. But,” he smiled. “It is on the table.”
“Thank you!” Mrs. Garza smiled and leaned in to kiss her husband.
“Is it an hour yet?” A small voice said behind them. “I’m hungry.” Both parents chuckled.
“I don’t even think it’s been 10 minutes yet, honey,” Mrs. Garza said.
“Forget the hour, I’ll just order now,” Mr. Garza said. He stood from his seat to grab his phone, when Victor tackled the tall man, stepped on Mr. Garza’s white snakeskin boots and wrapped his arms around his waist.
“Thank you! I got new parents, a new bed, and pizza! I feel so lucky!” the boy said while smiling.