•Dreams• | 4

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The door opens and reveals a beautiful woman with dark hair and hazel eyes

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The door opens and reveals a beautiful woman with dark hair and hazel eyes. Her red lips are pursed, almost like they're set in stone. She wears a long cardigan over her office work clothes. She looks so professional, but...

She's nothing like I remember.

Though she's still as beautiful as ever, she doesn't look as friendly as she was nine years ago. And the air around her screams intelligence and elegance - not warmth and kindness.

Everyone is holding their breaths, staring at the woman, waiting for her first move. The tension in the air is almost unbearable.

"Daisy, is it?" My mother knowingly asks, "Come inside."

I look over to Moe and Ms. Angela, uncomfortable.

"Oh, we'll help her settle in, if you don't mind. You know, bring her stuff inside," Ms. Angela says with one of her signature bright smiles.

My mother sneers at her, "No, she can do that herself. When she takes down her luggage, I suggest that you leave instantly."

I gulp and look to Moe and Ms. Angela, who are now glowering at my mom. I can almost see the dark clouds hanging angrily above their heads.

Trying to relieve the tension, I quickly utter, "it's fine, I'm a big girl. I can bring my luggage inside."

Moe looks at me sadly and nods.

•••

"I really hope that you'll be okay here," Moe solemnly looks at my mother as we finish unloading the car with my suitcases. Luckily, I didn't bring much stuff.

I smile sadly, "it's okay, Moe. Because I have you and your mom." We hug until we're almost to tears, and then Ms. Angela joins in not soon after, enveloping both of us with her warm arms.

•••

After I get all of my luggage into the house, I wait for my mom to say something. Instead, she just stands in the kitchen to the back, reading a newspaper as I look around the old Victorian home.

Her house - or I guess I should say my house now - is undeniably beautiful. The dark colors of the walls and floors bring me a comfortable warmth. The Old-War style living room is pleasantly small and filled with dark leather couches and chairs. A large television hangs over a black marbled fire place, which is turned on. I can see a piano room to the right down the hall, and the L-shaped stairs in front of me make me curious of what awaits above.

I hear the fire crackle in the fireplace and I unbutton my shirt. Why does she have a fire on during June? It's worse that I'm already sweating so much.

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