“So what do you think?” My mom asks as I close a creaky and battered door behind us.
The stench of harsh chemicals and stale food fills my nose as my mom clenches my hand soothingly in hers.
My parents’ separation has left me in a 900-square-foot basement apartment with 6-foot ceilings.
I look over at my mom, a common outlet of strength; all I see on her face is fear.
I decided that I was scared too.
“I love it. This place is perfect,” I reply, hoping to spark a smile onto her face. It never comes.
