Stella
“What about this one, dear?” my mother’s voice carries over the low volume of music that plays inside the store. I glance up from the clothing rack filled with high end dresses that are worth more than a year’s rent in the building I live in.
My mother holds a light blue dress in her hands. The fabric looks soft and there are frills along the neckline. My expression sours and my mother immediately catches on.
“What? What don’t you like about it?” she asks and her tone is genuine. It warms my heart to know that she wants to get to know me and my taste. It feels so nice to be seen.
“I…I am not a big fan of the frills or the color blue,” I try to mask my distaste of the dress as much as possible.
How can I explain that it reminds me so much of the woman who has made my life hell e
