Her booking photos circulated everywhere.
Dozens of mugshots spread across 15 years showing a face caving in, skin hardening, eyes going dark. The internet turned it into entertainment. Comments piled up by the thousands. Nobody asked questions.
Misty had lost twins. Then a third child in an accident. Three coffins. Zero support.
Her own body started betraying her too: a rare disease that hardens the skin. Physical pain piled on top of everything else.
She found meth. Not out of curiosity. Out of survival. The drug burned what grief couldn’t put out.
The arrests kept coming. Over a dozen. Each time a new photo. Each time a little less of her in the picture.
When someone finally told her story, the tone shifted. The mockery turned into messages of support. The same people who laughed started writing prayers.
But nobody gave her kids back.
