CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

WHEN I finally moved into my new office after weeks of decorating, I brought my parents' picture that was always on my night stand and placed it on the desk. I wanted them to see what I had achieved. They had to be proud, and I imagined them smiling from above.

My office was plain and spacious. Maybe because the interior designer saw my cubicle and knew how claustrophobic it was, she made sure not to clutter my new one. I had a brown wooden desk that had unusual slanted stands, a brown chair that didn't groan when I sat and a brown bookshelf behind my chair. Everything in it was different from my cubicle, even the air was crispy thanks to the new air conditioner. I had a little view of the city, and I could see the little details that made it whole if I stood by the window and turned the shutters.