Standard procedure.”

I stepped forward. My legs felt like lead, but a hot spark of anger was rising out of the most tired part of me. An ancient anger, built from years of pacing worn carpets with colicky babies while my mother, Lydia, slept soundly behind a locked bedroom door.

The anger of failed geometry tests and missed birthdays.

“My mom is pregnant with her eighth child,” I said, my voice gaining traction. “She expects me to stay and raise this one too, just like all the others.

I haven’t slept a full night in five years. If I go back, I won’t survive it.”

Officer Davis’s expression softened. The rigid line of her shoulders dropped, shifting from first responder to someone who might actually understand the invisible chains I’d been dragging.