As I began to head upstairs to my bedroom, he abruptly asked, "Where have you been?" I responded and said, "What do you mean? I called you at 3:15 p.m. and told you I had a game and would be home afterward." He said, "No, you did not. I did not talk to you today!" As I stood there, frozen, thinking, You're crazy as hell, he proceeded to tell me what my future was going to be, and I didn't agree with anything he said. "You will not participate in sports; you will come directly home from school, cook dinner, clean the house, etc." As he yelled, I began plotting my next move. When I tuned in, he said, "You will have no outside interaction with anyone." I recall thinking, This is my last day in this hellhole. It didn't matter where I ended up, I knew anything had to be better than this. I wasn't living at all. His home felt like prison, and I was ready to be free. This wasn't about me trying to sneak around and see boys. It was about a robbed childhood. I didn't have many answers, but I knew living with Mr. O'Neal was suffocating. He wasn't equipped to be an adoptive parent. The system failed. Providing a roof wasn't enough.
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