Gloria kept gazing at the mansion's imposing gate for a good long while, her eyes tracing every familiar curve of the wrought iron and the ivy creeping along its edges, until she mustered just a little courage enough to finally turn on the engine with shaking hands and drive away from her old married home, leaving behind a decade of memories, both golden and poisoned.
She returned to her apartment in Phoenix Tower, the sleek high-rise that now felt more like a temporary refuge than a home, and immediately threw herself into doing chores again. She scrubbed counters, folded linens, organized cabinets—anything and everything she could to distract herself from the relentless thoughts of her mother's tear-streaked face, the stinging slap, and her utterly ruined life unraveling at the seams.
