Richard jumped to his feet so fast that his chair slammed into the wall. “Don’t play games with us!” he shouted. “As long as you live under my roof, you follow my rules. Either you get rid of that baby, or you get out!”
“Dad, please,” I begged. “I can’t explain right now, but one day you’ll understand—”
“Get out.” His voice was colder than ice.
“Dad—”
“NOW.”
Less than sixty minutes later, I stood on the front porch carrying a duffel bag with nowhere left to go. Eleanor stayed behind the screen door, crying quietly. But she never attempted to stop him.
Just like that, I was nineteen, pregnant, homeless, and completely on my own.
Not long afterward, I left Ohio. I changed my phone number, started over in another state, and decided to keep my baby.
Her name was Grace.
The next ten years became the most difficult period of my life. I worked two separate jobs, enrolled in community college, studied long after midnight, and slept only when pure exhaustion finally took over. Some days I genuinely had no idea how we would survive. But every single time I looked at Grace, I found another reason to keep going.
