Clara
The flight back to New York was early. So early that the city still seemed to be waking up when the taxi dropped me off in front of the company building.
The air was cold, cool. That kind of morning that forces you to breathe deeper.
As I walked to the entrance, I thought briefly about the conversation with my mother. Her words kept floating in my head like a kind of soft echo.
Pride should never outweigh happiness.
I shake my head slightly, it's not pride. It's fear.
I enter the building and the usual movement of the office greets me immediately. Greetings, quick steps through the corridors, the distant sound of telephones and keyboards.
Everything follows its normal rhythm. And I like that, because work has always been the place where my mind is ordered.
"Good morning, Cla
