“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.”

When I heard the aggressive pounding at my aunt Helena’s door in Cedar Rapids, I knew my mother wasn’t going to let me walk away without a fight. These weren’t the polite taps of a neighbor, but rather the sharp and rhythmic strikes that forced the entire house into a heavy silence.

My aunt set her coffee mug down and looked at me with a mixture of concern and resolve as I sat on the floral couch. I was clutching my tattered backpack to my chest so tightly that my knuckles turned white and my fingers began to throb.

“Stay right here in the living room,” Helena whispered before moving toward the entryway. I couldn’t stay still, so I stood up anyway with my heart thumping so violently against my ribs that I felt a wave of dizziness.

My aunt pulled the door open to reveal two police officers, a man and a woman, who looked tired as if they had navigated a very long shift. “Does Savannah Miller live at this address?” the male officer asked while peering past my aunt into the hallway.