Chapter 1: The Invisible Leech
The dining room table was a battlefield of passive aggression, as it was every Friday evening. The air in our cramped suburban home was thick with the smell of my mother’s overcooked pot roast and the suffocating weight of my family’s delusions.
I sat at the far end of the table, a twenty-six-year-old ghost in my own childhood home. To my parents, I was Chloe, the disappointment. I lived in the unfinished basement, wore oversized, unassuming sweaters, and spent fourteen hours a day staring at multiple computer monitors. When asked what I did for a living, I usually mumbled the word “freelance.” To them, this translated to “unemployed leech.”
