optive mother, Maria, her voice tight

need to come home.

ne still warm from the last run. "What's wrong? What a

that. Just... come hom

ver just wanted me to "come home." It was always a prelude to a demand, a lecture,

rew up in, a place filled with more shadows than happy memories. But something was off. The driveway was

zen other familiar faces from the congregation all turned to look at me. They weren't prayin

n the couch, looking proud. In Maria's arms,

, her voice booming with performative j

They were in their late fifties,

?" I asked, m

has blessed us, Jocelyn. We spent our life savings, and yes, the money you've been send

in before deliver

a good salary. It's your Christian duty to support this family, this ministry

nt. It was an ambush. They hadn't called me here to celebrate. They had summoned me to se

as instant a

gasp went thr

ge. "No? What do you mean, no? This

firm. "I have my own life, my own bills. I can't afford to s

er everything we've done for you! We took you in, we raised

lyn, your parents have made a great sacrifice. It is you

orus of condemnation. "Shameful." "Selfi

will do this, or you are no longer our daught

d tasting like freedom

back to. We needed a nursery for Caleb. We threw all your old things out. But don't

me into the cold November air, and drove until I found the cheapest, grimiest motel I cou