I lay on the floor, furiously1 kicking my legs and scre***ng until my throat felt raw—all because my foster mother had asked me to put my toys away.
“I hate you,” I shrieked. I was six years old and didn’t understand why I felt so angry all the time.
I’d been living in foster care since I was two. My real mom couldn’t give my five sisters and me the care we needed. Since we didn’t have a dad or anyone else to care for us, we were put in different foster homes. I felt lonely and confused. I didn’t know how to tell people that I hurt inside. Throwing a tantrum was the only way I knew to express my feelings.
Because I acted up, eventually my current foster mom sent me back to the adoption agency, just as the mom before had. I thought I was the most unlovable girl in the world.
Then I met Kate McCann. I was seven by that time and living with