MINE. STILL.
“Why is your life like a Venezuelan soap opera, blended with a Colombian drama, then slapped around by a Turkish series?”
I stood in the doorway in a wrinkled pink hoodie, ripped jeans (not fashion, just tragic laundry), and two massive suitcases at my feet.
One for my clothes. The other… packed with things I could throw at Claudia if she ran her mouth too much.
“Ma,” I sighed, rolling my eyes, “I’m not going to war. It’s just Theo’s mansion. A giant house full of bitter memories, nosy secretaries, and an ex-mother-in-law who could pass as Ursula with a Latina accent. Totally normal, Ma.”
Bab Populer