Rita's Point Of View
The room was washed in warm, creamy tones, with high-quality velvet couches that invited you to sink into them, a gorgeous mahogany bookshelf packed with old novels whose spines I could recite from memory, and vibrant green potted plants that had somehow survived my long absence. Someone must have been watering them… probably my neighbor, Mrs. Chen.
Framed photographs lined the mantelpiece snapshots of my daughter's childhood, her graduation, moments I'd treasured and preserved like precious artifacts of a life well-lived.
"Just leave it right there by the wall," I gestured toward the hallway, then reconsidered. "Actually, wait. Let me show you where the bedroom is so you can drop it out of the walking path."
