CAROLINA On Friday morning, I went out to search for a job. After an unsuccessful hunt, I returned home and found my mother, Lilian Edmond, standing at the front door. “Carolina, you are 26 years old. Yet, you have no job or a boyfriend. You cannot continue to eat in this house with us. Take your things and leave!” Mom shouted, glaring at me. “Good evening, Mom…” I greeted her, but her eyes narrowed at me. My mother was a 48-year-old chubby woman with average height, fair skin, long blonde hair, and a curvaceous body, while I was slim-figured. She wore a long blue night dress that hung loosely around her body, paired with black slippers, while I wore a faded yellow top, an old brown frayed skirt that I had for ages, and black shoes. I held my old black handbag around my shoulder as I stood in front of her. Some neighbours peeked from their open windows, trying to see what the commotion was about. “Carolina, you are not entering this house tonight. You better go back and search f
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