Heart Family

I’m sorry it’s been so long. I’ve been through a lot recently, but I finally feel ready to talk about it.

Mrs. Hastings made the best cakes in town. Everyone said so, especially Mr. Hastings, who’d proudly share her creations with his friends at the chicken farm. Every week, Mrs. Hastings baked tirelessly to ensure each order was ready for the weekend.

I was her official “Queen of Taste Testing.” For every order, she’d bake a small cake on the side just for us, a quiet victory for another happy customer. We’d sit at the old kitchen table, the fan lazily spinning above our heads, keeping us cool in the sweltering heat. A glass of southern sweet tea sat by our plates, sweating almost as much as we were.

During these moments, Mrs. Hastings would ask how I was adjusting to school or share stories from her childhood, hoping to make me feel less alone. With her and Mr. Hastings, I never felt like a burden.

One afternoon, after we’d finished a cake, Mrs. Hastings was quieter than usual. I noticed her staring out the window, her long gray hair tied into a bun. Her apron, covered in frosting and batter, hung loosely as she sighed softly.

“Celia, are you okay?” I asked.

She blinked, as though waking from a dream, and smiled at me. “I’m fine, sweetheart. I was just thinking. But there’s something I’d like to talk to you about.”

My chest tightened. Was this the part where she’d tell me I had to leave? My last foster home had done something similar, and days later, I was back at the center with nothing but my belongings in a trash bag, again.

Mrs. Hastings must’ve noticed my panic because she reached over and placed her hand on mine. “No, no, no. I’m not sending you away. I promise.”

Relieved, I put my fork down and straightened in my chair.

“I’ve been thinking,” she said. “I’d like us to travel. If I can get the okay from your social worker, we could explore places together. I know you’ve had a sheltered life—and so did I as a child. I always dreamed of seeing the world but never did. Samuel and I built a life here, and I’m grateful, but there’s so much more out there. What do you think?”

Her words caught me off guard. “You mean, like a trip? Of course, I’d love to!”

Her face lit up. “Oh, I’m so glad. I’d love to make those memories with you.”

She cleared our plates and left the room briefly. When she returned, she carried a large box. Setting it on the table, she said, “This is for you.”

I opened the box to find a purple and black suitcase with a silver plate engraved with my name: Elani. Tears filled my eyes as Mrs. Hastings said, “You are our family, Elani. You may not have come from my body, but you are my daughter by heart.”

I stood, and we embraced as I sobbed. For the first time in my life, I felt like I belonged.

***

Two weeks later, I packed my new suitcase for our first trip. We were going to be going to the Grand Canyon.

Before coming to the Hastings’, I’d never owned anything I could truly call mine. When I arrived here, I carried my clothes, this journal, and my stuffed animal—all in a black trash bag. My previous foster parents, the Lakens, had made it clear that nothing in their home belonged to me. “We need these things for the next kid,” they’d said. They weren’t abusive like my parents had been, but they weren’t kind either.

As I zipped up my suitcase, I felt a quiet joy. Mrs. Hastings had already packed my toiletries in a smaller bag, and everything fit perfectly. That night, I fell asleep smiling for the first time in my life.

***

Eight months later, everything changed.

Celia collapsed in the kitchen while placing a cake in the oven. I was at the table, mixing frosting, when I saw her fall. Panicking, I called 911 and then Samuel’s work. At the hospital, Samuel’s grief was palpable.

“Thank you for being there for her,” he said hoarsely.

Celia’s passing left a void in our lives. Samuel tried to carry on, but he was never the same. Despite his efforts to smile and keep busy, his heartbreak was clear. He mourned her until his final breath just months later.

***

Yesterday, I found this journal buried in the back of my dresser.

As I flipped through its pages, I relived the trips we’d taken: the Grand Canyon, Yellowstone, the foliage drives in Vermont, and the caves in the Appalachian Mountains. Each memory brought a bittersweet ache.

Today, I packed everything into the suitcase they gave me. Running my fingers over the engraved name plate, I smiled. Their love would travel with me wherever I went.

As I sat on my bed, Mr. Hastings’ sister, an elderly woman with kind eyes, appeared at the door. “Mind if I sit with you?” she asked.

I nodded, and she settled beside me.

After a moment of silence, she spoke. “I remember when Sam called to tell me about you. He was so excited. You know, Celia and Sam tried for years to have children, but it never happened. When they decided to become foster parents, they knew the risks. They knew you might go back to your parents or another home. But they also knew they wanted to give you a family for as long as they could.”

Her voice cracked, and she paused before continuing. “Elani, you were a blessing to them. I wish I could take you in myself, but my health won’t allow it. Still, I hope you carry their love with you. Be kind, like Celia. Be strong, like Sam. And above all, never stop believing in yourself.”

Tears welled in my eyes as she stood. At the door, she turned back and said, “You may not be blood, but you’re our heart family.”

As I stared out the window, I noticed two monarch butterflies dancing in the breeze. I imagined they were Celia and Samuel, watching over me.

For the first time, I wasn’t afraid of the future. My suitcase held my entire life, but it also carried the love and memories of the family who chose me. Wherever I go, they will always be with me.