At seventeen, I told my father I was pregnant. He didn’t yell—he just opened the door and told me to leave. I became homeless overnight.
The baby’s father disappeared weeks later. I raised my son, Liam, alone—through roaches, night shifts, and silence. I gave him everything I had. And he became everything I’d hoped: kind, hardworking, determined. On his 18th birthday, he asked to meet the man who cast us out. “I don’t want revenge,” Liam said. “I just want to look him in the eye.”