Monday morning came soft and cloudy.There was no red carpet, no camera flashes, no moving truck with logos. Just me, a duffel bag, two potted plants, and the kind of calm that only comes when you know exactly what you’re walking away from—and exactly what you’re walking toward.I stood by the doorway of my old apartment, still barefoot, sipping the last coffee I’d make from the dented kettle I refused to replace for years. The place smelled like familiarity: leftover dumplings, coconut shampoo, and the stubborn scent of resilience.I heard the knock before I even turned. It was Tita Maribel, in her usual oversized blouse and bedroom slippers, holding a tin of homemade banana bread.“You sure you’re leaving, hija?” she asked, already glancing around like she could stop me with motherly guilt.I gave her a small smile. “Just moving upstairs in life, Tita. But I’m keeping this unit.”She squinted. “Keeping? But you just got yourself a penthouse!”“It’s not for me,” I said, brushing a bi
Last Updated : 2025-07-28 Read more