Raising Ethan Alone
My son’s name is Ethan.
I had him when I was seventeen, an age when most people are still learning how to take care of themselves.
From the moment I realized I was pregnant, I understood that everything ahead of me would be uphill.
The people who were supposed to support me didn’t see my pregnancy as a beginning.
They saw it as a failure they were embarrassed to acknowledge.
Ethan’s father, Mark, disappeared before Ethan ever learned how to crawl.
Not slowly.
Not gradually.
One morning, his side of the closet was empty.
His phone number was disconnected.
Every attempt I made to reach him dissolved into silence.
No apologies.
No explanations.
No child support checks.
No birthday cards.
Nothing that suggested he had ever been real.
So it became just Ethan and me.
Navigating life together with a stubborn determination that sometimes looked like strength…
And sometimes looked like exhaustion pretending to be resilience.
Read more on the next page ⬇️⬇️⬇️
