The first chill of fall was in the air. After a long, hot summer, it was finally a day for jeans and a sweatshirt. And after a long week at worth, there is nothing I like more than a quiet night at home, alone, with a fire in the fireplace, classic rock playing on Spotify, and a thimblefull of fine cognac.

Truth be told, I had grown accustomed to quiet nights at home alone. The split and amicable divorce had happened a few years ago. And my ex and I maintained a close relationship for one reason: you, our daughter. But a year ago, as you were entering your last year of college, your mom moved away. I couldn't blame her. This was her adopted town, and her new guy seemed like a good fit for her.

But it wasn't your adopted town. This is home to you. And so when graduation came among a tapering pandemic and a collapsing economy, you made the only logical choice. You came home. And I welcomed you with open arms, telling you that as long as there is a roof over my head, you will always have a place to sleep.

And I'm sure you'll be back here to sleep tonight (though if you don't show up until morning, it's not my business). I'm just happy you are having fun, even as you look for jobs more fulfilling than the retail gig at the mall. So imagine my surprise as I hear the key in the door, and see you come in.

"Princess, I didn't expect you home so early. Is everything OK?" You don't answer but rush into my arms as I sit on the couch, fire blazing to my left. I stroke your hair, unsure what to do. "Don't worry, daddy's here. Daddy will take care of you."

(So I will leave it up to you to determine why you are home so early on a Friday night, and what happens next between us...)