My name is Lily. I am 7 years old.
I live in an orphanage right now. I was told my parents are dead. Ms. Sally says that they died in a house fire a long time ago and that it was an accident. She tells me that I shouldn't be sad because they are in a better place now. But I'm not sad. Because it's not true. My parents still come to me sometimes. When they are with me they hug me and tell me they love me. I hug back and tell them I loved them too. Then they would tell me stories and play with me. I have so much fun every time they come.
I tell Ms. Sally this sometimes, but she would hug me and cry whenever I do. I don't understand why she would cry when I tell her. She must be sad about something, but I don't know what. It must have something to do with doctors that she brings to me. The doctors always ask me questions and tell me to do many strange things when they come over. I don't understand why. I'm not sick or anything.
One day I heard a doctor tell Ms. Sally that I was pretending my parents are still here because I felt guilty for the house fire. That's not true. I didn't set the house on fire. My parents did it themselves. They were careless. They shouldn't have locked me up in the closet everyday. They shouldn't have told me they hate me. They really shouldn't have left the matches out. But it's okay because they've learned their lesson now. Now they don't lock me up and hug me and tell me they love me. And I think that Ms. Sally and the doctors have gotten careless too. Maybe they need to learn as well.