I am not a stay-at-home mom secretly exploring sex work (Normal Women by Ainslie Horgarth), but I know a calling to motherhood and a fear of financial dependence.
I am not an apparition stuck in time on the NYC subway after years of fighting for queer rights (One Last Stop by Casey Mcquinston), but I have felt adrift while searching for belonging.
I am not manipulating a rich older man to live in his mansion and steal his pills (The Guest by Emma Cline), but I have been desperate and an unreliable narrator to myself.
I should probably try to find a book about a man next I guess.
