I’d turned twenty-three last month. This was the age my mom and I had agreed I’d have to get my own place and leave the house. If it were up to me, I’d still be living with her. I didn’t care how that looked like to other people. The house was big, and it was only her and me. My father had died when I was only eight. It’s not like my mother had kicked me out of the house. She just wanted me to be independent. We hadn’t even had the conversation until I got the assistant manager position at th...