“It was okay—lots of praying and preaching. I painted over the graffiti and cut the grass. That’s pretty much all they needed from me today. Luckily, I don’t have to go back until Sunday.”

“Good.” She smiled as she worked the car into the driveway.

I helped her into the house and then waited until she was comfortable on the couch. Her black-and-gray streaked hair was pulled into a tight bun, giving a good view of her brown eyes and clear skin. Besides a few wrinkles and the dark circles that had developed under her eyes, you’d never know she was almost fifty.

I pulled a throw off the back of our scruffy plaid couch and laid it over her legs. Once she was all set up with her remote, I went into the kitchen and cooked a small dinner for the two of us. It was late, but I was starving.

We spent the rest of our night watching our favorite sitcoms in the living room. The chair I sat in had seen better days, but it kept me from falling to sleep since there was a spring digging into my back. Our house and furniture wasn’t the best, but it was home and it was ours.

When I first came to live with Mom, Ms. Janet, she had a really nice place and I enjoyed living in such richness. There were fine furnishings and the room she’d given me was huge and covered in all things sports. All that changed after her husband, Mr. Charles, died. We moved into something small on the opposite side of town.

Mom hated the new place, but I didn’t care either way. If anything, I was more comfortable in the bad parts of town. The kids around our new house didn’t look down on me the way the others did. I got in more trouble in school since more trouble was readily available, but I was happier.

The following Sunday, after taking out the trash and digging out a flower bed for Sister Francis, I went to the single church bathroom to clean my hands and face. I swiped at my pants with my dirt-covered hand before grabbing the doorknob. After pushing the door open, I ran right into Faith. Except this time she was sitting on the floor with her face down and her fist clutched to her chest as if her life depended on it. Her long skirt was hiked up over her knees, exposing a long, shapely leg.

I’m not sure what I’d expected to be lurking under that god-awful skirt, but I surely hadn’t expected a set of gorgeous legs. A perfectly shaped thigh worked its way up under her skirt. I couldn’t help myself. My eyes followed its path and begged the skirt to go away.

She moved and the bathroom light shifted across her leg, allowing me to see they weren’t as perfect as I’d originally thought. The creamy skin was slightly tarnished with thin scars and welts. One thing I knew about was welts. One of my foster dad’s favorite things to do was pick the perfect switch on a tree and use it on me. I’d gone to sleep many nights with welts that looked like that asshole’s belt, his perfect switch, or better yet, his shoe.

My eyes were stuck on her legs as I pushed the door farther. Tear-filled eyes looked up at me, and she gasped. She quickly adjusted her skirt and swiped at the wet paths on her cheeks.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know anyone was in here.” I leaned over and snatched a tissue from the tissue box on the counter and handed it to her.

I bent down on my knees to look directly into her sad brown eyes, and it felt as if a large hand was squeezing my heart. I wasn’t a naturally emotional guy, but pulling the wings off of a butterfly wasn’t my thing and this girl was hiding wings, just a different kind.

“Are you okay?” I asked softly.

She attempted to smile, but it never reached her eyes.

“Yeah, I’m okay—just having a moment,” she said with an uncomfortable smirk.

She reached up with her free hand and nervously tucked her hair behind her ear, while her other hand remained clutched to her chest. A brown strand of hair escaped, and without realizing what I was doing, I tucked it behind her ear and out of her face again. She jerked at my touch and my heart shifted in my chest. It was the strangest feeling.

“What happened?” I asked.

I had the strongest urge to protect her.

There was once a little girl named Emily who I shared a foster home with. She was so sweet and small. I was with her for three months and during those three months, I’d been her protector. Faith reminded me so much of a grown-up Emily.

She opened her mouth to talk, but before she could answer, her father was at the door. His eyes beat into her and again, she shrank in his presence.

“That’s enough playing around, Faith. Sister Francis is looking for you.”

His eyes skimmed my face in aggravation. I turned my attention back to Faith, who was standing and adjusting her skirt. The way we were sitting alone in the bathroom couldn’t have looked good, but I didn’t care. I knew we were being innocent and that’s all that mattered to me.