After Dad passed away, the world seemed to tilt under our feet. Mom tried to stay strong, but every day carved a little more out of her. She worked double shifts at the diner, came home smelling of coffee and bleach, and still somehow found the energy to help us with homework and tuck us in.
But exhaustion clung to her like a second skin. Sometimes I’d wake up at night and see her sitting at the kitchen table, face buried in her hands, whispering, “Just one more day… I can do one more dayWe didn’t realize the neighbors had been watching. One afternoon, just as Mom returned from another long shift, a white CPS car pulled up in front of our house.
