I grew up in a small town where everyone knew each other. My family was the kind that stuck together no matter what. We weren’t perfect—far from it—but we had each other, and that was enough. My parents, hardworking and loving, always put my siblings and me first, even when things got tough.
My father owned a small bakery, waking up before dawn to knead dough and prepare the pastries that filled our home with the warm scent of cinnamon and vanilla. My mother, a school teacher, balanced discipline and kindness in a way that made every child feel safe in her classroom. I had two younger siblings, Sarah and Daniel, who were both mischievous and full of life. We had our share of fights, but in the end, we always made up.