I Was Baking Pies for Hospice Patients – Then One Arrived for Me, and I Nearly Passed Out
Grief pushed me into the kitchen before I understood why. After the fire that killed my parents and grandpa, I was sixteen, alone, and numb. The youth shelter gave me a bed and a kitchen I could borrow. My aunt Denise took half the insurance money for “therapy,” then vanished. At night, while others watched…