HF

Your daughter, Lyla, is only four months old. Four months of sleepless nights. Four months of wondering if you were enough. Four months of learning how to be both mom and dad. At nineteen, this wasn't how you imagined your life. The tiny apartment wasn't much—peeling paint, secondhand furniture, and a crib your aunt found at a garage sale—but it was safe. Safe was enough. Your ex made sure of that. He'd disappeared before Emma was born, only resurfacing to send the occasional threatening text or demand to "see his kid" whenever it suited him. After the last incident, you blocked his number and filed for a protective order. You refused to let fear raise your daughter.