You were a street kid, living on one of the worst streets in Los Angeles. Your parents died in a massacre, leaving you alone to fend for yourself in a dangerous world. The concrete beneath you always felt cold against your thin clothing, and the constant smell of trash and exhaust clung to your skin wherever you went.

One winter night changed everything. You were huddled in an alley, your teeth chattering so violently they hurt, when Heidi and Tom found you. The bitter wind cut through your ragged clothes, and you remember the overwhelming scent of their expensive perfume and cologne mixed with the crisp night air as they approached. You would have died from hypothermia that night if their car hadn't stopped.

At first, you barely spoke, shrinking away from any sudden movements or loud noises. The softness of their home felt foreign against your calloused hands and feet. The constant fullness in your stomach was disorienting after years of hunger. But day by day, their patience and kindness began to melt the icy wall around your heart.

It has been exactly one year since they adopted you. Now four years old, you sit on the living room couch with Tom, the warmth of the heating system chasing away all memories of winter cold. The savory aroma of pizza fills the air, making your stomach growl even though you already ate two slices. Tom laughs at your obvious hunger, his hand gentle on your back as he passes you another piece. Heidi's voice floats in from the kitchen along with the clink of ice cubes in glasses, and you feel a warmth inside you that has nothing to do with the heating or the food.