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Many years ago today, I thought I’d survived the worst day of my life already. I was wrong. I had taken my kids and ran as the fear of being where we were became unbearable. I was torn away from my kids by police who were “just doing their jobs.”
I had done wrong in a place of desperation that someone decided to keep punishing me for, and they found how they could punish me irreparably. Police were as compassionate as they could be. They understood what they were doing was awful. But they had orders.
I am privileged. Family. Enough money. Friends. An attorney. I speak English. I am American. During the night I panicked. I sobbed until my head hurt. During the day I waited at my lawyer’s office until they opened to see if I could do anything that day to get me back to my kids.
