All the nuns at the orphanage were ruthless except for Sister Francis.
It did help that she was actually my sister.
Nobody knew that it was our little secret.
Nobody knew that our father, the priest of the Catholic church, had another daughter. They especially didn’t realize that who he got pregnant was a 3-time-arrested hooker.
I grew up in this orphanage, and at age 15 Father Campbell finally connected the dots.
I mean, he’s not really my father. Sure we share the same blood and the same eye color, but he’s not a father to me like he is to Francis. Francis was raised by a man who taught her to laugh as a baby, took her to school, went to her violin recitals and watched her grow up.
Me, just an orphan. It is pretty cool that Sister Francis has been here since the day they dropped me off. So, really I do feel like I have a sister, but no father, and definitely no mother.
All the nuns are strictly babysitters. They make sure we have clean hands, ironed clothes, tied shoes, and that we make it to bible study. They make sure we wake up at 7 am every morning and go to bed at 9 pm every night. We eat three meals a day, have bible study twice a day, and work on school work the rest of the time. On the weekends, the nuns make us do all the same things, but we get 2 hours of downtime Saturday and Sunday. This is where Sister Francis and I become so close.
Whenever I first started living here, I was only a few days old; the age where the nuns just make sure you are alive every day. Which, isn’t much different than when we are older, it’s not like they are known for their nurturing.
Our father knows this is out of his control. What Sister Francis thinks of him and his choices, that will be engraved on her heart forever. As for me, I’m ready for everyone to know the truth.
And soon, they will.