thereβs one photo that noah has of his birth family, and he doesnβt know why he keeps it around. itβs one of those newspaper articles praising him and natalie for something they had no say in, and matthew is laid up in a hospital bed. noah wishes he didnβt blame matthew, knew that he was just a kid too. but nothing was taken from him, just from noah and nat. every time, noahβs eyes are drawn to his motherβs lifeless eyes, his fatherβs hand on his shoulder. he remembers the bruises, he remembers the doctors. the memories of mark and lily maynard are perfumed with antiseptic and the metallic taste of blood in his mouth. natalie is the only one whoβs smile doesnβt make his stomach turn.
he remembers being twelve, the last night they were together before natalie got adopted and left noah in the system. he didnβt blame her, even if it hurt. they were each otherβs shadows, there were no secrets. noah didnβt know how to go on without nat, didnβt want to, but if she had a chance at a better life then he was happy for her.
hearing that he was being adopted felt like he was hallucinating. it was one of the furthest things from his mind, being fifteen. he wasnβt keen on being taken away from nolan and ana but they had their bracelets and addresses and numbers, theyβd be okay (they would not).
rayen was a nice last name, and iris and denise were nice people. he could tell they wanted to be mothers, but he could never figure out why they picked him. there was concern it was because of his past, that the two socialites could parade him around as some rescue case. that wasnβt the truth though. noah didnβt have to go to any events he didnβt want to, and they supported him through anything that he wanted to do. it took fifteen years, but he found a home in that green house in jersey with his moms and their dog.
