In 2010 Jordan died in a car accident when a delivery truck ran a red light, and the police officer who came to my door said he died instantly. I was twenty two years old with a four year old child and twelve thousand dollars from his insurance, and I had no one to call for help.
Instead of collapsing I threw myself into work and built a small interior design business from nothing, taking any job I could find. Years later, with help from a mentor named Caroline Winters, I turned that work into a real company called Hearthline Interiors.
By 2024 I had twenty two employees and over four million dollars in annual revenue, and my daughter was a sophomore studying psychology at Washington State University. We had built a life from scratch without any help from the people who once called themselves my family.
Then on November fifth, my parents showed up at my house in Tacoma.
“We know you have a son,” my mother said, standing stiffly on my porch.
“We would like to meet him,” my father added, already acting like he had the right.