I dropped to my knees, even though they felt like they might give out. I wrapped my arms around him, holding him close.

“I’m here,” I said, my voice breaking. “I’m not going anywhere.”

I was twenty-seven years old. Single. Broke. Living in a cramped one-bedroom apartment with mismatched furniture and an unreliable paycheck. Raising a disabled child wasn’t part of any plan I’d ever made.

But Evan needed someone.

And I chose him.