Seraphina's Point Of View
"Baby, when are you finally going to move in with us?"
My mother didn't even look up from the kitchen island as she threw the question at me. She wrestled aggressively with a giant, stubborn ball of sourdough, her knuckles dusted in flour, throwing her entire upper body weight into the counter. Some things never change.
You can take the woman out of a tiny, cramped bakery in Italy and drop her straight into a sprawling, multi-million dollar custom estate in the wealthiest zip code of Texas, but she'll still look like she's trying to punch the bread into submission.
The familiar sight brought an unexpected warmth to my chest… a reminder that wealth hadn't changed her core.
I sighed, leaning my lower back against the marble edge of the island, carefully swiveling my glass of red wine so I wouldn't get a single stray drop on my cream silk blouse.
