After school, when Rowan was walking home, he’d watch students walking together laughing, putting arms around each other, or just talking as they walked. He envied the closeness they had, but he also liked being alone. He could think, really think deeply about things. It seemed like popular kids never thought about anything, especially before they spoke. He enjoyed thinking. Maybe he never would need friends, because they’d just ruin the quiet. Thinking was one of the only things he was good at. Yes, he didn’t need any friends.

Rowan walked in through the front door and met his adoptive parents, Claire and Elliot. They were smiling big, and Claire had her hands together, fiddling with her fingers.

“Did your day go okay?” Claire asked, and Elliot set his palm on Rowan’s back before taking his backpack off for him.

Rowan nodded his head with a pursed smile as he watched Elliot hang up his backpack.

“That’s good. Come eat, you must be hungry,” Claire grinned and swiped her hand affectionately against the back of Rowan’s head.

As they walked to the dining room, Rowan saw a full table of various dishes, all to his liking. He was grateful, but felt a pang of guilt in his chest. He wanted to share the same affection, but was too afraid. His stomach churned, and water pooled in his eyes. What if he’d get too attached… and something happened again?

He looked to the floor and blinked tears away. He grabbed a worn notebook out of his pocket and wrote something on it before giving it to Claire and Elliot.

The note read:

I’M SORRY, I’M NOT FEELING VERY HUNGRY RIGHT NOW. THANK YOU FOR DINNER.

He felt a sharpness in his throat as he walked away. He didn’t want to see their faces as they read the note. He knew they spent a lot of effort on making dinner, and he was hungry. But, he couldn’t escape a feeling in his stomach. An old memory, pushing its way into his thoughts. He went to lie in his bed, a few tears streaming down his face onto his pillow.

He overheard his adoptive parents' conversation.

“It must be so hard for him. I can’t imagine how he’s feeling right now. I wish I knew what to do!” Claire spoke with a trembling voice; she sounded as though she was about to cry.

“I know, all we can do is be there for him. He’ll open up eventually—when he’s ready.”

Elliot said in a soft, comforting voice, “You made such a wonderful dinner. Why don’t we bring some food to his room and let him eat alone if he feels like it?”

Rowan scraped at something stuck to his sheets, his face was red, and he kept taking in hiccups of breath as he cried. He felt emotionally exhausted from today, and memories from the past kept trying to force their way in. It was putting weights on his eyelids. Soon his eyes drifted shut and he fell asleep.

—

“Can we play a game?” Little Rowan asked a tall adult, clutching onto their pant legs.

The adult looked down at him, trying to hide the annoyance in their eyes.

“Go play by yourself. I don’t have time for this right now.” 

As the adult walked away, Rowan heard her say to her husband, “Why did I have to take this child in? It’s not my fault he has no parents or family!”

The husband shot Rowan a quick glance, “I’ll talk with my sister— maybe she knows someone else who can take him in. I know you have a lot on your plate.”

“It’s not about what’s on my plate!” She snapped. “You know I hate children.”

—

“You’re such a nuisance! Go find something else to do and stop bothering me!” A young man barked in anger.

“Don't speak to him like that! You know he’s been through enough already,” The boy’s mother shouted back.

“So what? It’s not like everyone else's life is so amazing, and he's the only one going through it. Not my problem. Why did we have to take this annoying kid in anyway?” The boy replied, glaring at Rowan, who had tears streaming down his face.

“My brother couldn’t care for the child, and he’s family. Be grateful we even have a family! One to offer to this poor kid.”

—

“Rowan, dear, come eat.” An older lady called out to little Rowan from the kitchen.

Rowan jumped up, tripping over his tall stack of blocks on the rug. “Yes, Grandma!” 

He ran to the dinner table and sat down. “Looks yummy!”

The older lady laughed, ruffling his hair. “Eat up, and let me know if you’d like seconds.” She said sweetly.

Later, Rowan sat next to Grandma, lying in her hospital bed. He held her hand as he cried, snot dripping from his nose.

“It’s ok, dear. Don’t cry.” She wearily reached out to pat his head.

Hours later, Rowan’s grandma urged him to accept an invitation to go to his friend's house

“I want to stay here, Grandma. I don’t want to go,” he refused, tears dripping down his face.

“Go. You should have fun with your friends.” She replied.

“No! I won’t go! Stop telling me what to do!” Rowan shouted before running out of the hospital room. 

As he was walking back to the hospital room, he wiped the leftover tears off his face with his sleeve. He wanted to apologize to Grandma. 

But as he arrived at the door, a nurse stopped him.

“I’m sorry, honey, you shouldn’t go in there. Your grandma’s gone.”