My mother had me at 17 and gave me up.

When I was 20, I finally found her, heart racing with hope.

But when I stood in front of her, she looked terrified.

“Forget about me!” she whispered sharply. “My husband is powerful, and he’d leave me if he knew about you.”

Her words felt like a k.n.ife. I wanted to scream, to beg her to love me.

Yet instead, I nodded and walked away, carrying the kind of silence that shatters you from the inside out.

For a year, I made an effort to move on, burying the ache.

Then, one rainy evening, a knock came at my door.

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