It's been three years now. Three years since I sat with you at lunch on our bench. Played mum and dad with you in our treehouse. Watch a movie on your grey leather sofa. Three years since I last saw you. Three years since someone told me they loved me.

I watched my mother drink herself to death after my father died saving a baby from the burning church across the field. They said it was the candles that started it but I heard the women of the village gossiping that it was indeed the priest sacrificing them because he went mental. We didn't go that day. Father Yven died along with my father. I felt bad that I didn't miss him that much. He was hardly home. Mother told me he bought that empty house next to the school. Or what we thought was empty. I held my brother's hand as they lowered my mother down. Then, all the women gathered in our kitchen and stared at me with pity. I heard them murmur around me as they ate their sandwiches.

I felt an arm on my shoulder and looked up to see my aunt with her saddened eyes. She did lose her sister after all. Her husband, Uncle Jerry, heaved the bags and boxes into the back of car. He was a short stout man. I remember when you asked me how he managed to get my aunty who was beyond beautiful. I just said it was love. That is what my aunty said.

My brothers' sleeping, warm body leaned against my cold one. Uncle Jerry would stop and look at us to make sure we were okay. I remember when I saw them last year. My mother told me to hide all the empty bottles as quick as I could. She beat me when I wasn't fast enough. I remember her calling me useless. Am I useless? Is that why you left me without saying goodbye?

I closed my eyes and smiled when I saw your face although the image of you was starting to fade. I only opened them again when I felt a tap on my shoulder.

"Wake up, honey. This is your new home now," I heard a soft voice say. How I yearned to hear a gentle voice like that. When I didn't open my eyes, I felt my small body being crushed into big arms. But I didn't protest.

I felt something soft hit my back and opened my eyes. It was a bed. I focussed on my uncles' smiling face and smiled back. "Hey sweetie. Aunt Lia is gonna start making food, okay?" I nodded my head. He then kissed my forehead and put the blanket over me. "Let me go and get your brother." But before he could get up, my laughing brother ran in and jumped onto my bed. "George! You'll hurt your sister!" my uncle scolded. I felt my heart jump with joy when I realised that someone actually cared for me. Is this how it feels like to be loved, Peter?