Is The Mug Too Hot To Handle?

With each step, Avery's heels beat a furious rhythm on the worn linoleum, echoing through hers and her mother’s cramped apartment that had become more of a prison than a refuge. "Mother!" Her voice was sharp and cutting, piercing the stale air like a knife searching for its target.

Dora lounged on a threadbare couch, the flicker of the television casting ghoulish shadows on her face. She sipped her tea, unperturbed, a queen in exile amidst crumbling walls. "What is it?" The words dripped with disinterest.

"Are you really going to give up on my dream?" Avery's quivering hands clenched tightly, her nails leaving imprints on her skin. Tears streaked down her cheeks, smudging her mascara as she refused to abandon her ambition.

"What dream?" Dora's brow arched, teacup to lips, the epitome of calculated calm. The scent of warm, earthy tea wafted through the air, adding to the serene atmosphere of the room.

"Mother, my dream of marrying the richest man in New York City?" Avery spat out the w