Chapter 1: The Girl by the River

The moment I was born, my dad was ready to toss me into the river and drown me. No kidding. That was his first instinct. Sometimes I think he really meant it.

In small-town America, where folks still whispered about bad luck, black cats, and hard times, he looked at me—tiny, red-faced, wailing—and scowled like I was the final straw breaking his back. The river out behind our place, slow and muddy, had seen its share of secrets. But not that day—not me. For a second, I wondered if he really would do it.

He said, "A girl? Just my luck!"

His voice was sharp, slicing through the hospital air, thick with the scent of bleach and linoleum. It cut through the quiet like a razor. I remember feeling the coldness in the room, even if I didn't understand the words. No one bothered to hush him—not the nurses, not anyone. That was just the way things went in our family.

It was my grandma who snatched me away just in time. Her arms were all bones and strength, and she moved faster than you'd expect for someone her age.

She was wiry and quick, with hands that could shell peas faster than anyone in town. She glared at him, her eyes fierce as a hawk's. If Grandma hadn't been there, I don't know what would've happened. Maybe the nurses would've stepped in. Maybe not. But Grandma never waited for anyone to do what needed doing.

She scolded him, "I've never seen a man act so cold to his own child!"

Her words rang out, echoing down the hospital corridor. For a second, everything went still—the kind of hush that makes people freeze mid-step, pretending not to listen but hearing every word.

My dad shot back, "We're already broke—how can we afford to raise her?"

He sounded more tired than angry. His shoulders slumped, like the fight had gone out of him. But his words still stung—heavy and mean. Money was always tight, but that day, it felt like an excuse for everything.

"If you won't raise her, I will!" Grandma hugged me and took me home with her. Her grip was fierce, like she was daring the world to try and take me back. I could feel the determination in her bones.

She wrapped me up in her arms, smelling of flour and wood smoke, her apron dusted with biscuit crumbs, and walked out of that hospital like she owned the place. No one tried to stop her. Maybe they knew better than to mess with her when she had that look in her eye.

Even though Grandma barely scraped by, she never let me go hungry.

Sometimes dinner was just a biscuit and a glass of milk, the chipped plates warm from her hands, the old kitchen table creaking under our elbows. She made it feel like a feast. She'd hum old hymns while she cooked, and when I asked for more, she'd always find a way—even if it meant going without herself. Her kindness filled the cracks in that little house.

When I turned five, my parents wanted to take me back.

I didn't understand why, not then. Maybe it was because I was old enough to help around the house, or maybe they just thought it was time. Either way, the day they showed up, the air felt thick with something I couldn't name. My stomach churned, and I clung to Grandma's skirt.

Grandma refused. "Didn't you say you didn't care about her? Let me keep raising Lily."

She stood in the doorway, arms folded, blocking their way like a guard dog. She wasn't about to let go of the one good thing she'd fought so hard to protect.

"Mom, Sheryl found a job, and Jamie is only one—someone needs to look after him," my dad said, frowning. "You have to understand our situation."

His voice was softer than usual, but Grandma wasn't buying it. He glanced at the floor, hands stuffed in his pockets, looking anywhere but at me. The tension was thick as gravy.

"How old is Lily? You think she can look after a baby? I thought you finally grew a conscience and remembered you had a daughter." Grandma held me tight, resolute. "No way. I'm not letting you take Lily."

She squeezed my shoulders. Her grip was gentle, but unyielding. I could feel her heart pounding through her thin dress. I clung to her. I didn't want to let go. Not for anything.

My parents had no choice.

They stood outside for a while, muttering to each other, but Grandma didn't budge. Eventually, they left, tires crunching down the gravel drive. The silence that followed was thick and strange, pressing in on all sides.