My mother left me hungry and lonely at 16. When my…

Massachusetts. Her hair was a perfectly coiffed shade of blonde that screamed maintenance, and her skin was smooth, tight, and glowing with the kind of health that only money can buy.

She was wearing a designer coat that likely cost $5,000, draped over her shoulders with casual elegance. There was zero shame in her eyes. There was only a bright, predatory expectancy.

The room was silent, save for the low hum of the climate control system and the scratching of a pen on paper. Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, the gray Atlantic Ocean churned against the coastline, mirroring the storm that was brewing inside my chest. I kept my hands folded on the polished mahogany table, my face a mask of absolute neutrality.