“Tricia, honey, can you please bring some juice for Mr. Layne?” Ms. Nicolene’s eyes twinkled as she smiled at me. 

Mr. Layne, a short, balding, middle aged man, in a worn out three piece suit, was sent by the Adoption Agency and worked on behalf of Social Services. 

“Sure, Ms. Nicolene.” 

I exited the living room and returned shortly with a glass of juice, which I handed to Mr. Layne. 

“Thank you, dear.”

In one gulp, Mr Layne finished the juice and placed it on the centre table in front of him. 

"So, Mrs. Fraser, as you were telling me about the home improvement project?"

Ms. Nicolene told Mr. Layne she received the cheque and she'll be heading to the bank the next day to get the process started.

Ms. Nicolene wasn’t all she was cracked up to be, nor was her husband, Mr. Jack. Don’t believe me? Keep watching and you’ll see how they made my life a living hell. 

When Mr. and Mrs. Fraser signed up to be foster parents, one stipulation was made very clear by the agency, they must renovate their home. With leaking occurring throughout the house and floor board groaning when you walked on them was deemed hazardous by the agency. However, with the system crammed to capacity they had no choice but to hand me over to the Frasers. 

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