POV: Isadora
The windows were massive, floor-to-ceiling, overlooking a perfectly manicured garden with ancient trees and lit stone pathways. The floors were polished light-toned Italian marble. There was also a ten-foot linear fireplace built into a wall clad in giant slabs of dark natural stone.
The main sofa was a massive contemporary modular set in soft cream leather. That’s where I was sitting, enduring my mother’s lecture. It was impossible not to notice the glaring difference between Anne’s living room and the one in my house. This room alone felt bigger than her entire apartment; the furniture was much newer, more comfortable, and modern. But why did I feel so much more at home there than here?
“Isadora!”, my mother called out, annoyed. “Are you even listening to me?”
“Yes.”
“A
