I bought a gun when I was 22 years old. I didn’t particularly want a gun. But the thing with guns—as with many consumer products—is that whether or not you want one has not been entirely your choice to make.
It was 2004 and I had moved in too soon with a man I, by all accounts on paper and off, should never have been dating in the first place. Daniel (not his name) was a recent transplant from a poor town across the country. I was single for the first time since I was in high school. We found...