Suddenly, instead of preparing for college, I was standing in a cramped apartment surrounded by diapers and formula cans while college brochures gathered dust on my desk.
And I stayed.
Surviving One Day at a Time
I worked every shift I could find.
Warehouse jobs at night.
Food delivery during the day.
I stacked boxes until my back ached, drove through snowstorms, and grabbed every extra shift possible because diapers and formula weren’t cheap.
Neither was rent.
I learned how to stretch thirty dollars’ worth of groceries across an entire week.
I became an expert at applying for assistance programs and finding secondhand clothes that still looked new.
While everyone else my age was figuring out college parties and relationships, I was learning how to warm bottles at 3 a.m. with trembling hands.
I learned how to bounce one baby on my hip while the other screamed herself hoarse.
People constantly told me to “let the system handle it.”
But I couldn’t do it.
I couldn’t stand the idea of my little sisters growing up in a stranger’s home wondering why nobody fought for them.
The girls started calling me “Bubba” before they ever learned to say “brother.”
The nickname stuck.
Even their preschool teachers used it.
I used to carry both girls through the grocery store — one in each arm — while strangers whispered about me like I was some kind of cautionary tale.
But none of that mattered once we got home.
Not when they curled up against my chest during movie nights.
Not when they drew little stick-figure pictures labeled:
“Me, my sister, Bubba, and our house.”
As if we were the luckiest family in the world.
Every night after they fell asleep on my chest, I made myself the same promise:
They will never feel abandoned.
And for a while, I truly believed we had survived the hardest part.
I believed we were finally okay.
Then, seven years later…
Lorraine came back.
The Day My Mother Returned
I remember that day perfectly.
It was a Thursday afternoon.
The girls and I had just gotten home from school when someone knocked on the door.
I wiped my hands on my jeans and opened it without thinking.
At first, I didn’t even recognize her.
