Lately, Mom’s been acting weird, always asking where I’m going, who I’m with, when I’ll be back. We started fighting over small things, and I had no idea why she was making such a big deal. One night, I came home late, and she was waiting for me, furiou.

We fought, and the next morning, my car was gone. When I asked her, she said, “I took it. You’ll get it back when you start acting like you deserve it.” I was LIVID. It wasn’t just about grounding me anymore — it felt like she was controlling my life.

So, I did what any 17-year-old would do: I snooped around. I knew she had a storage unit, and I figured she’d stashed it there. I waited until she left for a doctor’s appointment and found the keys in her room. It felt wrong, but I was FURIOUS. I had to get my car back. When I got to the storage unit, I couldn’t help but smirk — victory was so close. I unlocked the door, expecting to see my car sitting there, untouched. But what I saw instead made me GO PALE.

There were boxes. Lots of them. Neatly labeled with craved adventure and freedom, but it came at the cost of my mother’s tears. One day, she put my car in her storage unit to punish me for coming home late. I did what any 17-year-old boy would do. I stole the keys to the unit to retrieve my car, but what I found hidden there shattered my heart like glass. Do you love your mother? What a silly question to ask! I often dreaded coming home, you know. Mom’s questions fired at me the moment I walked in. “Where were you, Eddie?