“My mother was pregnant with her seventh child… and when I refused to continue raising her children, she called the police to have me arrested as if I were a criminal.”

The officers exchanged a brief look of understanding as my aunt opened the door wider to let the cool Iowa air inside. “She is not in any danger here, but she is completely drained after raising her siblings for years on her own,” Helena told them.

The male officer frowned and stated that they still needed to speak with me directly to assess the situation. I stepped forward slowly on legs that felt like jelly, but I felt a new spark of anger rising up from deep within my soul.

It was an old anger built from nights of pacing the floor with crying babies while my mother slept soundly in the other room. It came from failed geometry tests and missed birthday parties because I was too busy cooking dinner for everyone else.

“My mom is pregnant with her seventh child, and she expects me to stay and raise this one just like all the others,” I said firmly. The officer listened without interrupting me, which gave me the courage to continue my story.

“I am only sixteen years old, but I haven’t had a full night of sleep in years because the babies call for me instead of her,” I added. My voice shook at the end, but I made sure they heard me when I said I left because I simply couldn’t survive another day.

The female officer’s expression softened as she moved from being a first responder to someone who truly understood the gravity of my life. Just as she was about to speak, another engine roared outside and a car screeched to a halt in front of the house.

A chill ran down my spine because I knew it was my mother, Lydia, before I even saw her reflection in the window. She stepped out of the vehicle with one hand resting on her pregnant belly and the other gripping her purse like a shield.

She wore the exact expression she saved for public audiences, playing the part of the suffering and sacrificing mother who was a perfect victim. She burst into the house almost in tears and cried out my name while pretending to be relieved that I was okay.

Before I could move away, she wrapped me in a tight embrace that had no love in it, only the cold scent of control and unwashed laundry. “Sweetheart, look at the terrible scare you gave us while your siblings were crying for you at home,” she sobbed loudly.