I used to think rock bottom would come with some kind of warning.
A crack in the ground. A moment to brace myself.
Instead, it arrived quietly—like everything good had slipped away while I wasn’t looking.
I was 34 weeks pregnant, standing in a house that didn’t feel like mine anymore, surrounded by unpaid bills and the echo of someone who had already left. Lee hadn’t even argued when I told him I was keeping the baby. He just… disappeared, like I’d become something inconvenient overnight.
That morning, the call from the bank made it official.
Foreclosure.
I didn’t even remember ending the conversation. I just stood there with my hand on my stomach, whispering apologies to a child who hadn’t even entered the world yet.
