When I became pregnant with my second child, life was already hard. I was living in my late mother’s old trailer with my adult son, Jace, who had little ambition and worked a minimum-wage job. When I told him I was pregnant again, he was upset—we had nothing to offer a baby. Then, five months into the pregnancy, I went into labor. My son, Luke, was born severely premature, and we spent 398 days in the hospital as he fought to survive. Through it all, Jace slowly changed. He began asking about his brother,

showing concern, and something in him shifted.When Luke and I were finally discharged, I returned home—only to find a new family living in our trailer. My heart dropped. I thought Jace had stolen our home and vanished,