When I was seventeen, one truth shattered my world: I was pregnant. That confession cost me my home, my father’s love, and everything familiar. My dad wasn’t cruel—just cold and controlled. When I told him the news, he didn’t yell. He simply opened the door and said, “Then go. Do it on your own.” At seventeen, I was homeless with nothing but a duffel bag and a promise to my unborn child. The baby’s father disappeared within weeks. I stocked grocery shelves by day, cleaned offices at night, and prayed in the dark.