When my mom got cancer, my dad chose another woman and disappeared. At eighteen, my twin brother and I became parents to our three younger siblings. Five years later, our father showed up at our door like nothing had happened—and demanded something that left us stunned.
Daniel and I were twenty-four when life finally slowed down enough for me to take a full breath. But when everything actually fell apart, we were barely eighteen—fresh out of high school, still arguing about dorm costs, still believing adulthood came with instructions.
There were five of us. Daniel and me first. Then Liam. Then Maya. Then Sophie. Back then, they were nine, seven, and five—small, loud, constantly hungry, full of questions no one could answer.
Nothing was okay yet, but no one had told them.