“They were – boys. Immature.” I said defensively. “When I meet a decent guy, you’ll be the first to know.” I made a stab at changing the s...bject. “Did you get my lilies, by the way? I sent them last Saturday.”She arched a pencil-enhanced brow.“Yes, dear. Only I would have preferred your presence to that of a bunch of flowers, however lovely they may have been.”God. Who talks like that? She’d been an English teacher for almost thirty years and I’d spent my childhood being reprimanded for saying. The memories of what shaped me to this way of life in my early teens are still too painful to even think about.I was a very wild young girl from about 10 to 16 years old. My parents think I lived in foster homes during that time. Sure, if foster homes are defined as the streets. Those years defined what I am today, why I do what I do. It only takes once watching a very special young girl ... well; I swore that I would do everything in my power to try to keep my babies from ever being hurt. More

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