I was always the unwanted.

I was born on September 13th, many years ago, or so it seems to me. I was dropped off at a small police station, where my father picked me up from the stoop out front. I was alone, with a note attached to the small blanket I had been swaddled in. The note was simple, explaining the many apologies my mother had for my father. It spoke of her many failed "coat-hanger" abortions. It spoke of how she had never wanted a child in the first place. Even as a little thought in the back of her mind, I was unwanted. As a small fetus, I was unwanted. The final act of her hatred of me was to drop me off like trash at that police station, like I was trash. "No Child Left Behind", my ass. A safe haven is only safe for so long. My father couldn't care for me. He was unruly, and a drug addict, and a corrupt policeman. He didn't need or want me either. So he too, dropped me off. Into foster care.

Dropped into a world of hatred, as a small baby I was shuffled from foster care to foster care. I couldn't stop crying due to my constant agony. My immune system had always been weak, and I was constantly sick. I suppose it was an after effect of the drugs my mother had always been on while pregnant with me, her unwanted child. After my fourth foster home, I was diagnosed with pneumonia, and was required to go to the hospital for a few months. I was only five months old. I was in the NICU, alone. I was a ward of the state, because no one wanted to care for me. I barely made it alive, and probably wouldn't have, had it not been for my nurse, Esme. She was a new nurse in neonatal intensive care unit, and had been married for a while. She had a son slightly older than I, and knew how hard it was for me. She fostered me until I was two, and they shuffled me to a different home. Esme still keeps in touch.

After many foster cares, I was shuffled back there. I was fifteen years old, and going back to Esme's. After being turned out of my old foster home for self mutilation, I hadn't a place to go. Esme took me in. She was my eleventh foster home in fifteen years. Her son was a year or two older than I, and she had another son who was in college. She hadn't any daughters besides a young girl named Alice, who was about twelve. Esme promised I would fit in there, but I could never be sure. After a few hours of traveling in the middle of September, I was finally at Esme. Esme rushed out to greet me, and hugged me tightly. A small group of teenagers trailed behind her, hesitant to see me.

One brawny boy rushed up with a grin, and gave me a hug. A blonde haired girl gave me a glare. A tall and muscular boy looked down at his shoes. He looked up at me, shy. His hands were in his pockets, his shoulders shrugged. I looked into his big green eyes and he gave me the slightest of grins. I returned my stare to the ground. When I looked up again, he looked hurt, and he was walking away. Esme started to get my small bag of belongings, when a small girl ran up to me and hugged me around the neck with a lot of force. She squealed with delight as she hugged me. I grinned down at her, happy that someone besides Esme and her son liked me. I smiled slightly as I walked through the doors that I had known for so long, but hadn't been to in ages.

Hi, my name is Isabella Swan, and this is my story.