When people think of memoirs, they often expect a neat arc: trauma, struggle, triumph. A narrative that starts in pain and ends in peace. A redemptive journey that makes it all feel… worth it.

But Love Child doesn’t follow that formula.
It’s not here to comfort.
It’s here to confront.

I didn’t write Love Child to tie my past up in a bow. I wrote it to name what happened—to finally say the things I wasn’t allowed to say when they mattered most. This book is not a redemption arc. It’s a reckoning.

The Myth of the “Happy Ending”

There’s an unspoken pressure in trauma writing to end on a high note. To forgive the unforgivable. To find the silver lining. And while there’s beauty in healing and growth, that expectation can feel dishonest—especially when your wounds haven’t neatly closed.

My story isn’t about closure. It’s about truth.

Truth that doesn’t make everyone look good.
Truth that doesn’t resolve itself by the final chapter.
Truth that doesn’t always offer comfort, but demands to be witnessed.

What Makes Love Child Different

This book is built on memory and scar tissue. It doesn’t shy away from the moments that shaped me—the betrayals, the violence, the silence I was forced to keep. But more than that, it’s about what it means to survive without having to make sense of it all.

You won’t find a clear villain or a perfect heroine here.
You’ll find me—imperfect, complicated, angry, soft, scared, and resilient.

You’ll find a young girl trying to make herself smaller to survive.
You’ll find a woman who eventually refuses to shrink anymore.

Reckoning Means Accountability

In Love Child, I reclaim not just my story—but my name. I write to hold systems accountable. To speak out against religious conditioning that told me my voice was dangerous. To expose the emotional gaslighting, the normalized violence, and the isolation that nearly broke me.

But I don’t write from vengeance. I write from fire.
From the embers of what I lost.
From the spark of what I still had inside me: the will to tell the truth.

It’s Okay If You Don’t Forgive Everyone

This book won’t tell you to forgive your abuser.
It won’t ask you to thank your trauma.
It will tell you: You’re allowed to be angry. You’re allowed to not be okay. You’re allowed to speak even if your voice shakes.

Sometimes healing isn’t soft. Sometimes it’s loud, messy, and full of contradictions. Love Child is an invitation to explore that messy middle—and find yourself in the process.

This Is Your Reckoning, Too

If you’ve ever felt silenced…
If you’ve ever been told your truth is too much, too ugly, too raw to be shared…
This story is for you.

Because you don’t have to be healed to be heard.
You don’t need permission to speak.
You don’t owe the world a perfect ending.

You owe yourself the freedom of your truth.