But the only voice that came was my own, whispering in the dark: “This isn’t over.”
Years passed. I bounced between foster homes, learning early that people liked the idea of saving a child more than the reality of raising one. I grew quiet, observant, and fiercely determined.
I read everything I could get my hands on. Books became my escape—stories of people who had been forgotten, left behind, and still found their way to greatness.
