“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 following weeks were a blur of social workers and interviews where my teachers confirmed that I had been struggling to stay awake for months. Even the lady at the local grocery store admitted that she always saw me buying the diapers and milk instead of my mother.

My father eventually confessed that I had missed school frequently to stay home and act as a surrogate mother for my siblings. The state allowed me to remain with Aunt Helena, and I finally rediscovered the luxury of having a normal daily routine.

I went back to school and started failing less because I actually had the time and energy to focus on my own future. I found that I still liked to read and that I could laugh at silly things when I wasn’t constantly worrying about a crying infant.

The hardest part was missing my younger brothers, Mateo and little Samuel, because I didn’t leave them out of a lack of love. I saw them on weekends under supervision, and it took me a long time to realize that I was their sister rather than their mother.

The seventh baby was born two months later, a little girl named Faith, and I felt a strange sadness for the burden she might one day carry. My parents were forced into a family support program, and for the first time, my mother had to hear that I didn’t owe her my life.

I celebrated my seventeenth birthday at Helena’s house with a crooked cake and a few close friends from school. When I blew out the candles, I didn’t wish for anything grand, I only asked to never forget that I was entitled to my own childhood.

THE END.