hi everyone i'm maya but you can call me May not Mayzie please — and yes, you read that right: i've got more than ten siblings. curious? buckle up because my life has been one nonstop roller coaster. my childhood felt like a small world where my mother sara and my little sister lina were my whole universe. lina and i did almost everything together despite the five-year gap between us. she was the clown of the pair, always ready with something ridiculous to make me crack up: "maya i'm a seal — feed me or i'll serenade you!" she would squeal. i'd already know what she planned, but i'd play along just to listen to her giggle. with mom always chasing the next business scheme, i often ended up playing the parental role for lina: i cooked, tucked her in, and made sure she laughed before bed.
sara loved us dearly, but she had a habit of pouring money into wild ventures that never worked out. i used to wish she had more time rather than another half-baked plan. one morning she decided to take us to her office, saying she had a creative prank to pull on her manager. she handed lina a can of spray paint and urged her to help decorate the manager's car for a surprise. my stomach dropped. "mom, this could get us into real trouble," i whispered, but she brushed it off as a harmless joke. as we readied ourselves, security appeared and pulled my mom from her office. it turned out sara had been diverting company funds and when the investigation reached her desk she panicked. she was escorted away; in court her penalties were softened because the company manager took pity on our situation, but she still lost her job and had community obligations to fulfill. in an instant, at fourteen, i found myself and nine-year-old lina placed in temporary care while mom dealt with the fallout from her choices.
i was furious with my mother — how could someone i loved make such reckless decisions? still, my responsibility was clear: keep lina safe and try to pull our family back together. foster arrangements shuffled us a few times. one household felt like angels; another seemed to treat foster kids like paychecks. one place was so run-down that lina thought the water stains on the bedroom wall were giant, abstract paintings. determined to give lina a better life, i launched every small hustle i could think of: dog walking, babysitting, barista shifts, waiting tables — you name it. besides being book-smart, i learned to be street-smart fast; i hustled, learned systems, and grew resilient.
on my fifteenth birthday we moved to a new home that changed everything. the couple who took us in were hala and youssef; their daughter was nour. hala used to work with my mother years ago, so she already knew some of our story. she was an interior stylist with an incredible eye — their house looked straight out of a magazine — while youssef practiced pediatrics and had that calm way with children. nour, a few years younger than me but older than lina, lit up when we arrived. the three of them remembered us from community events and took to lina instantly. that first night, we heard footsteps in the hallway and lina panicked, whispering about ghosts. it turned out hala sleepwalked — awkward but somehow endearing. from then on, lina's laughter returned more often and i started to breathe a little easier.
life with hala and youssef felt like a small miracle. i kept juggling jobs and got home late most nights, but one evening i found lina curled up and crying. she complained of stomach pains and i rushed her to youssef's clinic. he quickly diagnosed an allergic reaction; someone had given her shrimp at dinner. i snapped — how could they not check medical forms? hala was devastated, admitting it was an honest mistake, and begged forgiveness. i sat beside lina through the hours of observation until she recovered. afterwards lina insisted i apologize for my harsh words; she reminded me of how patient and caring hala had been since we moved in. her kindness made me realize i'd been letting my anger blind me to the well-intentioned love around us.
even though things felt good, i noticed small oddities. hala and nour would slip into hushed conversations whenever i approached; they smiled too quickly and fell silent when i walked by. at first i chalked it up to teenage privacy, but then lina started spending more nights in nour's room, whispering until late. when i pressed her, she'd laugh it off — "it's just silly grown-up stuff," she'd say — but i felt a distance growing. i tried to focus on our survival plan: work hard, save, reunite with mom. i even suggested mom come help at the coffee shop where i worked, thinking a steady role might steady her. to my relief, mom agreed and i managed to persuade my manager to let her help part-time. my boss noticed my dedication and promoted me to assistant manager; for a while we tasted the small wins that come from steady effort.
one afternoon the school counselor called with an unbelievable opportunity: a prestigious academy across town offered to let me skip a grade and gave the promise of a full scholarship to a top university if i accepted. it felt like destiny, but i couldn't leave lina. i turned it down, certain family came first. later that day, while at another job, i got a frantic phone call: mom had been detained again. this time the surveillance at my workplace showed her pocketing cash from the register. i walked in, stunned, as my boss accused her. seeing the footage — no excuses — i felt my heart fracture. i was fired for bringing the situation to work; the humiliation pushed me to a breaking point. i confronted my mother: how could she sabotage all we'd worked for? she had no words. when the officers took her away again, i felt utterly alone.
with options running out, i made a choice that cut me deep: i asked hala and youssef to adopt lina. i told myself i could manage on my own and that lina deserved the stable home she had found. hala listened, eyes soft. that evening, the house buzzed with music — a surprise. as i entered, hala wrapped me in a hug and youssef's smile lit up the room. they explained that they weren't going to separate us; they wanted to adopt us both. at first the idea felt overwhelming: could strangers become my family? as they talked, it sank in that they loved lina and me enough to fight the red tape. nour threw her arms around me and suddenly i wasn't sure who held more tears — me or her.
even as the paperwork moved through, i wrestled with jealousy. nour and lina seemed to have built their own little world. whispers, late-night chats, and inside jokes made me feel like an outsider. but on my birthday, they surprised me with a party full of the tiny, perfect details only a family that knows you would plan: photos from our first weeks, inside jokes turned into decorations, and a cake that said "we're with you". the party cracked something open in me. i was clinging too tightly to the past. adoption papers signed and stamped, it became official: we were hala and youssef's daughters. yes, there would be fights and the small pains of family life, but there was also warmth and patience i hadn't known before.
in time i accepted the offer from the academy i had refused; nourish and hala insisted i pursue the path that matched my abilities. lina promised she'd be fine with hala and youssef — that she wanted me to go and grow. so i went, taking that chance, carrying both guilt and hope. our lives were changed — sometimes in ways i had feared, sometimes in ways i hadn't imagined. family, i learned, isn't always only blood; it can be the people who show up, who patch wounds, and who make room for you when your world falls apart. and even now, when things get messy, lina still rips a silly face and whispers, "i'm your seal," and i remember to laugh. follow along if you want more — this story was messy, but it's ours."