When I was 16 I lost a baby. She was left on our doorstep as a newborn by my brother, an addict. I mothered her for 18 months until, while I was in the shower, he took her back. Forever. I never even got to say goodbye. Losing her felt like I died. I was a mother without a child. But I was only 16. And I was dead. This story is for the young, misunderstood, complicated brown girl who lived too much and then not at all. And of finding the balance.
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