Blatherwick family

The stark fluorescent lights of the child support office buzzed overhead, casting an unflattering pallor on Jasper's tear-stained face. The five-year-old sat rigidly in an oversized chair, his feet dangling far above the scuffed linoleum floor. The woman who had taken him from his home was speaking in hushed tones with a tired-looking social worker, their words a meaningless drone to Jasper's ears.

His young mind struggled to process the events of the day, but one truth cut through the confusion with painful clarity: his parents didn't want him. The realization settled in his chest like a lead weight, making it hard to breathe. He recalled every harsh word, every indifferent glance, and every moment of the argument that had led to this point. The memories were etched into his mind with cruel precision, a testament to the keen awareness that often comes with growing up in a broken home.

As he sat there, Jasper made a decision that would shape the course of his life. With trembling hands, he wiped away his tears, willing them to stop. His tiny fingers clenched into fists, and he swallowed hard against the lump in his throat. He wouldn't cry anymore. He wouldn't give them the satisfaction.

The days that followed blurred together in a haze of unfamiliar faces and places. Jasper found himself shuttled between temporary homes and foster families, each one a reminder of the life he had lost. He learned to be quiet, to observe, to blend into the background. It was safer that way, less painful.

 He was seven when the Blatherwick family took him in.