Dreamcatchers for Abused Children is a non-profit organization devoted to reform of abused children. According to their website, their main goal is to “educate the public on all aspects of child abuse such as symptoms, intervention, prevention, statistics, reporting, and helping victims locate the proper resources necessary to achieve a full recovery.”
Recently, the organization shared a heartbreaking list written by a child from Oklahoma who ended up in the foster system after enduring severe abuse from both his parents who were heavy alcoholics. The boy never experienced love or the joys a childhood normally brings. All he ever knew was negligence and starvation.
Years went by before a neighbor noticed that horrible things were taking place in the boy’s home and decided to alert social services.
Once police intervened, the boy was taken to the Dreamcatchers for Abused Children organization who made sure the little one ends in a new and loving home.
Finally, when the organization found the perfect family and shared the great news with the boy, he made a wish list on which he included all the things he wanted in his new forever home.
Needless to say, the list melted many people’s hearts. Many took their time to comment how the things on the list are not something a child should dream of because they should have them automatically as most of them are just basic needs.
This is the list:
“Things I want in my family:
I want food and water.
Don’t hit on me.
A house with running water and lights.
I want love.
Mom and dad don’t fight.
I want no drugs.
Don’t kill my pets.
Help with school.
Nice clean clothes.
No lice. No bug in house.
Clean house.
Clean bed with covers.
Don’t sell my toys.
Treated fair.
Don’t get drunk.
Tv in house.
Let me keep my school stuff.
Nice shoes.
My own comb soap. Nice house and safe and heater coat.
Toothbrush.”
This list is a reminder that we should never take the things we have for granted.
I WENT FOR AN ULTRASOUND AND SAW MY HUSBAND HUGGING A PREGNANT WOMAN — SO I SECRETLY FOLLOWED THEM
The ultrasound image, blurry yet undeniably real, still swam before my eyes. Two pink lines. Two tiny flickering lines that promised a future I had yearned for, a future I had almost given up on. After five years of longing, of disappointment, of tears shed in the quiet hours of the night, it was finally happening. I was pregnant.
But the joy that should have consumed me was quickly replaced by a chilling dread. As I walked out of the clinic, my eyes fell upon a scene that shattered my world. Ronald, my husband, stood in the hallway, his arms wrapped around a woman with a swollen belly. It wasn’t just a casual hug; it was a tender, intimate embrace, his hands resting gently on her burgeoning stomach.
A wave of nausea washed over me. Who was she? What was he doing here? The questions raced through my mind, each one sharper than the last. My carefully constructed world, the world I had envisioned with Ronald at the center, was crumbling before my eyes.
Gripping my purse tightly, I felt a surge of adrenaline. I couldn’t just stand there, frozen in disbelief. I had to know. I had to understand.
And so, I did something I never thought I would do. I followed them.
My heart pounded like a drum as I trailed behind them, my breath catching in my throat with every step. They walked slowly, their conversation hushed and intimate. I stayed hidden, peering through shop windows, ducking behind parked cars, feeling like a ghost in their world.
They turned down a narrow street, the houses quaint and old-fashioned. My gaze followed them to a small, two-story house with a rose bush spilling over the fence. This was it. Their destination.
I found a secluded spot across the street, my eyes glued to the window. The living room was cozy, filled with sunlight and the scent of freshly baked bread. They sat on a worn-out sofa, the pregnant woman gently stroking her belly. Ronald leaned in, his face radiating a warmth I had rarely seen directed towards me. He spoke softly, his voice filled with a tenderness that made my chest ache.
“I’m so excited, darling,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “We’re going to be parents.”
The woman smiled, her eyes sparkling. “Me too, love. I can’t wait to meet our little one.”
“Our little one,” he repeated, the word hanging in the air.
The scene before me played out like a cruel, twisted movie. Their happiness, their shared dreams, mirrored my own, yet they were a mockery of my own hopes. I felt a wave of dizziness, the world tilting precariously on its axis.
As the afternoon wore on, I watched them. They laughed, they argued playfully, they planned for the future. I saw a love story unfold before my eyes, a love story that did not include me.
Finally, as dusk began to settle, they left the house, hand in hand. I watched them walk down the street, their silhouettes bathed in the fading light. And as they disappeared from view, I was left alone with the shattered pieces of my heart.
The walk back to my apartment was a blur. The joy of my pregnancy, the hope that had bloomed within me, felt like a distant memory. Betrayal, anger, and a deep, suffocating sadness consumed me. How could he? How could he do this to me?
That night, I cried myself to sleep, the ultrasound image of my tiny baby a bittersweet reminder of the shattered dreams. The next morning, I woke up with a resolve I didn’t know I possessed. I would not be a victim. I would fight for myself, for my baby, and for the future I had always envisioned.
The road ahead was uncertain, filled with pain and uncertainty. But I knew, deep down, that I would find my way. I would heal, I would be strong, and I would build a life for myself and my child, a life filled with love, joy, and happiness, a life that had nothing to do with him.
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