I thought the pounding on my door was the kind of sound that ruins lives. At 5:12 a.m., with my daughter still half-asleep behind me, two police officers asked what she had done the day before. And my mind went straight to the worst place it knew.
Everything I have is my daughter, Lila.
I had her at 18.
My parents had money, polished manners, and a deep love of appearances. When I got pregnant, they looked at me like I had dragged dirt into a museum.
