Storms 01 - Family Storms

father’s heart. I thought that was something she would never have to fear.
    Even though my foster mother desperately tried to make me feel as loved as her lost daughter had felt, I knew I was still a guest, an orphan in her husband’s eyes. Eventually he was kind and full of praise for me, and certainly generous, but there was always that look of restraint, that realization that I was not his real daughter. He could only care for me just so much, the way a father would, before that look came into his eyes and he would pull back and become more distant and formal.
    Mrs. March was aware of it as well. She tried so hard to regain a daughter, to hold onto her idea of a family. Her new goal now, her method of overcoming this last hurdle, was to have her and Mr. March legally adopt me. From time to time, I couldn’t help but hear them discussing it. Up to now,he was reluctant. To justify his hesitancy, he pointed out the complicated legal and financial considerations. He also emphasized that they had established a quarter of a million dollar trust fund for my college education.
    “It’s not that we’re not looking after her future,” he said.
    Another one of his excuses was the emotional and psychological impact it would have on Kiera. “Let’s wait until she is more settled, more adult. Even though she is doing well—better, in fact, than I had ever expected—she is still quite fragile, Jordan. You know what her therapist, Dr. Ralston, told us about sibling rivalry and how that diminished her self-esteem. Go slowly, or you’ll destroy all the progress she has made,” he warned and my foster mother stepped back again and again.
    It would be a little while longer before I would understand the real reasons why he was hesitant. Some of it did have to do with what he was saying, but the biggest reason lay in waiting, as patient as a confident tiger who knew his prey was coming closer. He would pounce when the time was right.
    And the poor lamb, innocent and trusting, I, Sasha Porter, could fall victim.
    My mother’s words never were forgotten. They linger now in the shadows of this exquisite mansion. Often, even on one of my happier days here, I would hear them as if her ghost, dressed in shadows, stood in some corner waiting for me to walk by.
    It’s only good self-defense to be distrusting.
    Remember the safety valve.
    Always be skeptical.
    I heard her, but would I listen?
    And even if I did, could I stop any of it from happening?
    My mother had come to believe that everything for us was decided even before we were born. It was futile to fight destiny. Why try? Why bother? She was that discouraged and defeated.
    I couldn’t blame her for feeling that way. I hoped she was wrong.
    But deep in my heart, I was afraid she was right.
    I was afraid that someday I would be as stunned and lost as she was the day she died.
    And there would be a new silence.