Loving Mom Hating Sister
If I said everything was good in my life, I’d be lying. Twenty-four years old, I spent Saturday morning studying philosophy for a test on my mother’s couch. I had been living with her and my sister for a month now, trying to rebuild my life, enjoying not having to pay rent at least for a while. So much for the guy who went to university abroad, I thought. The one who accepted a job offer to move back to the US just to see the company go bankrupt in a month; in one more, I had lost my recently...