“My mother was pregnant with her seventh child… and when I refused to continue raising her children, she called the police to have me arrested as if I were a criminal.”
My mother held the blade with two fingers, as if it were a weapon. And it was. Because on that paper there was no drawing, no homework, no teenage letter. There was a truth. A truth that I had written one night when I could no longer swallow my fear. The officer looked at the…
