The night my world collapsed, it smelled faintly of lavender detergent and burnt toast. My mother had been making herself a late snack, and the bread had stayed in the toaster too long, turning black at the edges. That smell mixed with the sharpness of her words, words that will never leave me: “If you’re going to keep that baby, you can’t stay here. I won’t have it.” I was seventeen, holding my breath to keep from crying. My father stood in the doorway, arms crossed, his silence more brutal tha

The night my world collapsed, it smelled faintly of lavender detergent and burnt toast. My mother had been making herself a late snack, and the bread had stayed in the toaster too long, turning black at the edges. That smell mixed with the sharpness of her words, words that will never leave me: “If you’re going to keep that baby, you can’t stay here. I won’t have it.” I was seventeen, holding my breath to keep from crying. My father stood in the doorway, arms crossed, his silence more brutal tha