The Loyalty Test That Killed Me

After fifteen years of drifting through the foster system and sleeping on stranger's couches, my biological parents finally tracked me down.

They appeared in front of me dressed in rags. Their clothes were frayed at the cuffs, their rented walk-up had a ceiling that wept rust-colored water whenever it rained, and the finest meal they could offer was a single salted yolk divided three ways.

Yet they looked me in the eyes and promised me love. Oceans of it. They asked if I was willing to come home with them.

I nodded. And for three months, I lived the happiest season of my life.