In late 2018, after two years of my dad and I being roommates and what started to also feel like wingmen—following a few instances of receiving a pound-it when I was left with no other choice but to tell him I wouldn’t be sleeping at home that night—things started to unravel. We began to fight—a lot. Not about the things most roommates fight over, like not cleaning up after oneself or being loud and inconsiderate. Instead, we fought about safety.

I bet you’re wondering, What’s there to argue about? Who doesn’t want to be safe?