Like in Kintsugi bowl art, my son — conceived in rape — was my repairing gold.
By M.Hetrick This story isn't a easy one for me to tell, so when you read this hold fast to knowing I survived through determination. I had a traumatic childhood rampant with abuse and neglect. Fast forward to my adulthood: I was standing at the pharmacy counter waiting for my interview to start. He walked past me, swift and confident. With a passing glance we gestured hello. I worked endless hours to pay for my apartment and living expenses and minded my business. I had grown a friendship with Nick who was a fellow shift manager and we spent every shift working alongside one another. One night he invited me over to his friend’s house. That friend was the one I had ran into the day of my interview. Nick and I had arrived to a dark house and I was escorted to a side porch that had a hot tub and bar. We sat there socializing and laughing. The three of us bonded and I eventually moved in with Nick’s friend — who was now mine too. Within a few weeks
