I left home when I was eighteen, and I never really looked back.

Not because I hated where I came from.

Because my family made it crystal clear there wasn’t room for me there.

I have an older brother, Garrett—the golden child. The son who could do no wrong. Growing up, everything I did was measured against him, and I always came up short.

If I got an A, Garrett got an A-plus.

If I made the softball team, Garrett was team captain.

My mother, Patricia, had a special way of looking at me that made me feel like a rough draft, while Garrett was the finished masterpiece.

So I left.