My parents kicked me out at twelve because of my grades and told me never to come back. Years later, they mocked me outside my own company, still calling me worthless.

Then my father opened the front door.

“Get out.”

I froze.

He pointed toward the dark street outside. “Don’t you dare come back until you become someone worth feeding.”

I thought they would eventually stop me.

They didn’t.

That night, I slept behind a grocery store, using cardboard boxes as blankets while rain soaked through my clothes.

I was twelve.

For the next six years, survival became my entire world. Shelters. Cheap motels. Construction jobs. Night shifts washing dishes. I lied about my age over and over just so I could eat.

And somewhere between exhaustion and rage…