In the tenth grade, a photographer came to us, take photos of high school students. Young, slender, beautiful. I immediately worried about him. And when he offered a photo shoot with me, I immediately agreed. Photos began to take on Tuesday evening, then moved to bed. She woke up on Wednesday in his arms. Our meetings lasted the moon until I learned that it was wadded. The photographer broke up with me, and I did not say nothing to my parents with fear. She wore spacious clothes, so my mom guessed my mom when doing something late. Mom was nit, and her angry father drove me out of his house.

Then it turned out that my dad wanted only to scare me, but I went and did not return. She found a company that lived in an abandoned house. She returned there with a baby who was born. The neighbors did not pay attention to our Kublo, but when they heard the baby’s baby, they immediately declared a nolicitia. As a result, the baby was selected, depriving my parental rights, and I was returned to my parents. Then I was seventeen years old. I am twenty -seven now. And my son is ten. A year with me was drawn by nshologists, then for another year she was completed at school. My parents suffered my existence with me. I lost a spiritual connection with my parents and my son.

I do not smoke, I do not drink, work and study at the university in the last year. I know in what kind of kindergarten he is. Often I go to the shelter and look at him from afar. It is a fight to approach him – he will not accept me. I kunked him ten times, headed to the entrance to the Ditbudinok, but at the last moment I turned back. I even consulted with the care services. I was assured that I could return the baby. But as soon as I imagine, as I look into his eyes, I immediately hamper my pain and rum. Do I get courage to approach my son, I do not know …