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I don’t remember my real parents—only the cold, the thirst, the fear, and the silence of a vacant lot. Then warmth arrived: a voice, steady hands, a home. From that day, she was my mom.

Told in a spare, intimate voice, My Adoptive Mom follows a small, restless narrator who learns the language of care without words: watching her cook, sleeping close, exploring the yard, and returning with discoveries—some welcome, some not. Across short, luminous chapters, the world tightens around trust: protection against bullies, the weight of a hand at night, the quiet knowledge that love is chosen.

A tender, minimalist short read about abandonment, belonging, and the everyday rituals that make a family—no matter the species—My Adoptive Mom reveals its truth at the end with a gentle surprise. Perfect for readers of literary short fiction who believe love doesn’t need the same language to be real. 

Chapter 1 — The Vacant Lot

I don’t know how much time had passed.
The cold came first.
Not a sudden blow, but something creeping in slowly, searching for gaps beneath the skin.
It started in my feet. Then my legs. Then my chest.
I was lying on the ground.
The earth was rough, damp. It scraped. It clung. It smelled bad.
I tried to move.
My legs didn’t respond the way I wanted. They bent strangely. It hurt. Not much, but enough to stop me from trying again right away.
I was thirsty.
Not an idea—something real: a dry weight in my mouth, a heavy tongue, a throat that felt sealed shut.
I opened my eyes.
The sky was enormous. Too big. No walls, no roof, no shadows nearby.
I made a sound.
Not a word.
Just what came out.
I waited.
For someone. For anyone.
I waited anyway.
My body trembled on its own. I couldn’t stop it.
I curled up, pulling my legs and arms tight against my chest, taking up less space, as if that could help.
Fear didn’t come all at once.
It arrived when I understood no one was coming.

Chapter 2 — Falling Asleep

The trembling faded.
Not because it was less cold, but because my body had no strength left to fight.
The thirst stayed, but farther away, like it belonged to someone else.
I heard something.
A short sound. Then nothing.
I didn’t know if it was real.
I wanted to lift my head.
I couldn’t.
Thoughts scattered. No full sentences. Just broken images. Sensations.
I didn’t remember anyone.
There was no before. Only this now.
Breathing slowed.
Each breath took longer to leave.
In the end, there was no fear.
Fear had worn itself out earlier.
I let go.
The ground stayed hard beneath me.
The sky above.
And then…
I felt nothing at all.