Rita's Point Of View
The Texas heat struck me like a physical blow the second I stepped off the plane, but it paled in comparison to the fire roaring in my chest. I hadn't slept. I hadn't eaten. My eyes were raw from the tears that had flowed steadily from Milan to London, and London to Dallas, but now, the well had run dry. All that remained was ash and iron, and a mother's rage that could burn down the world.
By the time the taxi pulled up to the gates of the Moore Estate, the sun was beginning to dip, casting long, skeletal shadows across the manicured lawn. I stared at the house… that mausoleum of "reputation" and "legacy", and felt a wave of nausea roll through me. The pristine white columns stood like sentries guarding secrets and lies.
