Chapter 1

The Thanksgiving call came from my adoptive mother, Maria, her voice tight with a strange, forced cheerfulness.

"Jocelyn, honey, you need to come home. I'm not feeling well."

I gripped the steering wheel of my ambulance, the engine still warm from the last run. "What's wrong? What are your symptoms? Should I call an ambulance for you?"

"No, no, nothing like that. Just... come home. It's Thanksgiving."

A heavy feeling settled in my gut. Maria and Anthony Jones, my adoptive parents, never just wanted me to "come home." It was always a prelude to a demand, a lecture, or a guilt trip. Still, the thought of her being sick was a hook I couldn't ignore.

I pulled up to the small, worn-out house in our working-class Chicago neighborhood. It was the house I grew up in, a place filled with more shadows than happy memories. But something was off. The driveway was packed with cars from our church, the same insular, strict community that always seemed to be judging me.

I walked in without knocking. The living room was crowded. Pastor John, the elders, and a dozen other familiar faces from the congregation all turned to look at me. They weren't praying for a sick woman. They were smiling, their expressions a mixture of piety and expectation.

Then I saw them. Maria and Anthony, sitting on the couch, looking proud. In Maria's arms, wrapped in a blue blanket, was a newborn baby.

"Jocelyn, you're here!" Maria announced, her voice booming with performative joy. "Come meet your new brother, Caleb!"

The air left my lungs. A brother? They were in their late fifties, buried in debt. It made no sense.

"What is this?" I asked, my voice flat.

Anthony stood up, his face glowing with a self-righteousness I knew all too well. "God has blessed us, Jocelyn. We spent our life savings, and yes, the money you've been sending us, on a private adoption. He is a gift from the Lord, the son we always prayed for."

He let that sink in before delivering the final blow.

"And it is God's will that you provide for him. You're a paramedic, you have a good salary. It's your Christian duty to support this family, this ministry. You will hand over your paychecks to us. We will manage the money for Caleb."

I stared at the baby, then at the sea of expectant faces. This wasn't a family announcement. It was an ambush. They hadn't called me here to celebrate. They had summoned me to sentence me to a life of servitude for a child that wasn't mine, a decision I had no part in.

My refusal was instant and cold. "No."

A collective gasp went through the room.

Anthony's face turned purple with rage. "No? What do you mean, no? This is your family! This is your brother!"

"I have student loans," I said, my voice shaking slightly but firm. "I have my own life, my own bills. I can't afford to support you, Maria, and a baby I didn't ask for. It's insane."

"Ungrateful!" Maria shrieked, clutching Caleb tighter. "After everything we've done for you! We took you in, we raised you! And this is how you repay us? By defying God's will?"

Pastor John stepped forward, his expression grave. "Jocelyn, your parents have made a great sacrifice. It is your duty as a daughter to honor them. To refuse is a sin."

The other church members chimed in, a chorus of condemnation. "Shameful." "Selfish." "She's turning her back on the Lord."

Anthony pointed a trembling finger at me. "You will do this, or you are no longer our daughter. We will disown you. You will be cast out."

"Fine," I said, the word tasting like freedom and ash. "I'm leaving."

As I turned, Maria added one last, cruel twist. "Don't think you have a room to go back to. We needed a nursery for Caleb. We threw all your old things out. But don't worry, the couch is free. You'll need to be close by for the night feedings anyway."

I didn't even look back. I walked out of that house, the sound of their judgment following me into the cold November air, and drove until I found the cheapest, grimiest motel I could. My family hadn't just given me a new brother; they had tried to give me a life sentence.