Sleepless nights. Crying in the shower. Flinching every time the phone rings. That was my reality — fear and grief wrapped around me like smoke I couldn’t escape. But the truth is, the fire didn’t start when I became an adult.It started in 1978, when I was just a little girl.That was the year my mother left for the United States —and that’s when I first met abandonment.I didn’t have the language for it, but I felt it in my bones. Then, a year later, just seven days after my tenth birthday… My sister died. I was reunited with my mother in December of 1979 —but by then, the wound…