“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.”

Hearing my name spoken in that official tone felt like a heavy accusation rather than a simple question of identity. My aunt straightened her back and replied that I was currently with her because I was her niece.

The female officer lowered her gaze briefly before looking me straight in the eye with a professional but curious expression. “Your mother filed an official missing persons report and claimed you left home without permission as a minor,” she explained.

She told me that my mother was deeply worried about my safety, which made me want to laugh and cry at the exact same time. The woman pretending to be frantic had spent years leaving me alone to manage six other children while I tried to finish my homework.

I had been the one changing endless diapers and heating bottles while my friends at school were learning how to go to dances and enjoy their youth. My own safety had never been a priority for her as long as I was there to carry the heavy burden of her household.

“I didn’t actually run away,” I finally said with a voice that cracked from the sheer weight of my exhaustion. “I came here to my aunt’s house and called her myself because I chose to leave that situation.”