When my foster parents brought me to our new home, concern etched their faces as they noticed my newly prepared room's issue, a broken window that allowed the winter chill to seep in. My bed was placed right beside it. We were in London, and the season only amplified the room's icy atmosphere.

The room was pretty, probably the prettiest place I had seen throughout my life since the 15 years of my existence for the first time. The walls were a mix of pink and white with white curtains falling over the bed like it belonged to a princess.