Reevey Peyton Dougall. The name that could’ve been mine. Would’ve been mine. Should’ve been mine. The adoption that fell through. As I sat, swinging my feet, fourteen and naïve, I believed this time, it’d work out. With them, I was more than a foster child. I was theirs, far from the scared child I’d been just 10 months prior. Heather and John were Mom and Dad. Aubrey, Silas, and Linley were my siblings. But I was still high-risk, and didn’t look good for the system’s statistics. I went back to my parents. And Reevey Peyton Dougall slipped out of my grasp.