The biting December cold was a constant companion in Heidi Collin's life, but nothing chilled her quite like the splash of icy water that jolted her awake. It was a familiar, unwelcome start to another day in the foster home, a cruel ritual orchestrated by Athena and her cronies.

"Hey, you filthy bitch! Get up!" Athena's voice cut through the air, followed by a jab of a foam-covered brush. Heidi flinched, her skin crawling with disgust. She knew the drill: retrieve breakfast, endure humiliation.

With a silent, simmering anger, she escaped to the washroom, scrubbing away the grime. Dressed in her warmest clothes, a gift from her sponsor, she retrieved a few hidden notes from beneath her bed. The walk to the convenience store was a small reprieve, the cold, fresh air a momentary balm to her soul. She looked back at the imposing building, a silent vow escaping her lips: "I really want to walk away from all of you."

Lost in thought, she almost missed the small, white mouse scurrying across the icy road. A startled jump, a slip, and she was down. "Ouch! It hurts, little mouse," she muttered, rubbing her arm. A hand appeared, extending an offer of help. She looked up, a blush rising on her cheeks, into the smiling face of a stranger. "Thank you," she whispered, and for the first time in a long time, she felt a flicker of something new, something hopeful, in the cold, harsh world.