Three years ago, my parents told me I was dead to them—now they're fighting to bring me back into their lives, and it's not because they miss me. I've built something on my own, carved out a life where I finally belong, but they've shown up with lawyers and legal papers that could destroy everything I've fought for. The courthouse smells like old wood and broken families, and I'm about to become another casualty unless I can prove that the people who abandoned me have no right to reclaim me now. They want something, and it's not my forgiveness. Some families are worth fighting for—mine is worth fighting against.