Before she became a stranger to herself

At twenty-seven, Mara could still remember the sound of a key turning in a door that belonged to her. There had been rent, shifts, laundry waiting on a chair, small complaints that now seemed like evidence of extraordinary luck. As her dependence on drugs deepened, those ordinary anchors slipped away. Work became unreliable, money disappeared, and relationships strained under promises she wanted to keep but could not always fulfill.

Homelessness did not arrive as one dramatic fall. It came through borrowed couches, favors exhausted, and mornings when she could no longer pretend she was only staying somewhere temporarily. Eventually, her bag became her cupboard, her pillow, and the thing she watched while trying to sleep.

The future she had not expected

When she learned she was pregnant, Mara sat still for a long time. The man she had hoped would stay was no longer someone she could rely on. Her first feeling was fear. Tenderness came later, unexpectedly, when she saw a tiny knitted sweater in a shop window and caught herself wondering whether her child would have her mother’s eyes.

She wanted to continue the pregnancy, but wanting a baby did not make her circumstances safer. Nor did it suddenly lift the hold drugs had on her days. She worried about everything she did not understand and dreaded being asked questions she could not answer proudly. The thought of seeking help brought relief and terror together. What if she spoke honestly and the person listening saw only reasons to turn her away?