EPISODE 1: FORGOTTEN VOICES
“The world outside finally screamed the things I was too broken to say.”
The sour stench of grease and burnt sauce from the kitchen crept under the crack of her bedroom door.
Shadyn didn’t flinch.
Her eyes zoned in on the voice coming from the television. “You make laws to protect children,” she thought bitterly, “but some of the worst ones—the ones doing the damage—walk right past you every day.”
The woman on the screen spoke with urgency about trafficked kids, but Shadyn already knew that story.
She lived it.
And the ones people trusted? The ones they called on to help? Those were often the ones hurting and selling kids like her.
Shadyn sighed, pulling the tattered blanket over her head. It was the same blanket she used as both comfort and pillow. Her body ached beneath it, as if even sleep had become too heavy to carry.
Then came the silence.
The kind that slaps the room cold.
A sudden mechanical whir faded to stillness—then cursing from the other room confirmed it.
The power was out. Again.
She must’ve spent the electric bill money, Shadyn thought, expressionless.
Sunlight sliced through the blinds and danced across her cheek as she threw off the blanket. She squinted against the gold light. One eye peeked open just enough to check the time on her phone.
8:15 a.m.
“Great,” she muttered, her voice cracked and dry.
This never happened when she was staying with her foster mom Bonnie and her dad.
She may have been locked in her room most of the time, but at least the lights worked.
At least there was hot water to clean the dishes and avoid a screaming match.
At least there was silence… not tension.
She rummaged through a pile of clothes on the floor, her hands working while her mind wandered to places her feet had learned to avoid.
🧠 Reflections from the Forgotten:
At Dad’s house, locked away in her own little room, she had something. A bed. A space. A door she could close.
It wasn’t freedom, but it was hers. No one else’s.
She didn’t figure out until sixth grade—sitting at the lunch table—that what she thought was “normal” wasn’t even close.