My house – big for our small family – had always been a place of comfort.
It was just me and my mom – my father walked out on us when I was young, but at a year and a half old I didn’t really miss his presence. Mom was the only around to raise me, and she often came home from work ready to collapse. As soon as she was through the front door, she would bee-line for the couch in the living room. She would flop down, the cushions absorbing her tired muscles. I would come down from my bedroom. She’d look at me and say “My baby girl’s here!”
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