My birthday itself hadn’t been that bad, really. Good friends and better wine. But hitting the quarter life milestone was hard on me. I was forced to look at all that I had accomplished since I had dropped out of college following my freshman year. And the truth was that there wasn’t much to look at. A few crappy part-time jobs. A checking account always at risk of overdraft. A too small apartment that had twice been hit with bed bugs. That was hard to take. Jason’s note hit even harder. April, it read. I have to leave. And then nothing else. He had taken all his stuff when I was at work and moved on after four years of dating. I didn’t hear from him again. My texts went unanswered, my phone calls straight to voicemail. He was a ghost. So there I was, seemingly an adult now, but with no degree, no real work experience and no boyfriend, facing a one-bedroom apartment lease that I couldn’t even begin to afford on my own, even if it was a roach-infested hellhole. I was in trouble.
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