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It's incredible for such a beautiful story, there aren't more comments! Keep writing for me it's one of the most beautiful stories ever told. You'd think it was real and not imaginary like so many other stories. You make me discover the USA and the possibilities that are open to us in life if we have the courage and ambition to reach new heights.

Florida doesn’t ease Sally in, it nudges her forward with sunshine and nerve. Between feeding stubborn iguanas, learning to jog again on ocean bridges, and settling into a life that finally feels real, she finds herself racing toward milestones she’s not sure she’s ready for. A learner’s permit, a first car, and the quiet thrill of independence collide with family love, old fears, and brand-new confidence. Chapter 137 is about momentum. Small victories. Big steps. And the moment Sally realizes she isn’t just visiting Florida anymore—she’s growing into it.   Chapter 137 – Feeding Iguanas By midmorning, the Faena penthouse looked like a staging zone. Suitcases lined the foyer, grocery bags sat by the door, and Adrian Weiss stood beside a gleaming light-blue GMC Yukon XL with the stubborn pride of a man who refused to let Miami traffic intimidate him. “No chauffeur today,” he’d announced at breakfast. “If we’re becoming Floridians, we drive like Floridians.” Sally wasn’t entirely convinced this was a good idea, but she didn’t argue. Her father looked genuinely happy gripping those keys. Olivia and Ken had already left at sunrise, bound for Sombrero Beach. They wanted to open up the Marathon house, air out the rooms, and “create a welcoming atmosphere,” as Olivia had texted, complete with heart emojis Sally suspected came from Ken. Inside the penthouse, breakfast had been slow and lazy. Theresa and Jana excused themselves early, heading downstairs for their own meal so the family could have their morning together. And just as Sally started gathering her things, Bridget reappeared with that calm, motherly authority Sally could never fight. “Before we go,” Bridget said lightly, “I want you comfortable for the drive.” Sally froze, already knowing where this was going. Bridget raised a single eyebrow. “Comfort. And security. Long road trips can be unpredictable.” Sally felt her cheeks grow warm. “Mom…” “It’s a three-hour drive,” Bridget reminded her gently. “And we will not be stopping at every gas station from Miami to Marathon.” Sally opened her mouth, then closed it again. Honestly… her body wasn’t completely predictable yet. And her mother wasn’t shaming her—only protecting her. So with a small sigh of surrender and a shrug of acceptance, she stepped into her suite. A few minutes later, she emerged wearing her airy summer skirt… and beneath it, a soft pink NorthShore. Secure, thick, familiar. She felt a little silly, a little comforted, and very much loved. She smoothed the skirt over it and marched back to the living room. “Happy now?” she muttered, lifting her skirt for her mom to see. She knew it was childish, but her mom was already treating her like one. Bridget inspected her daughter with the quiet eyes of a nurse and a mother combined. Then she smiled, warm and approving. “Very.” -- Adrian, standing by the car, looked up from loading the last suitcase and gave a clueless thumbs-up. “Ready?” He was beginning to get used to delays. Bridget gave him an apologetic smile. Sally groaned. “Dad, you have no idea what just happened.” “I assume,” he replied, opening the Yukon’s rear door, “it was handled efficiently.” Sally shot her mother a look. Bridget only grinned. The three of them—Adrian driving, Bridget up front, Sally and her pink secret in the back—filed into the extra-long Yukon. Jana and Theresa stood by the hotel entrance watching them go, Jana in her sunglasses, Theresa waving her coffee cup like a flag. “Text us when you’re halfway!” Jana called. “And don’t let your father get lost!” Theresa added. “I never get lost,” Adrian declared, already typing the address into the GPS. “Sure, Dad,” Sally murmured, buckling her seatbelt with a smirk. “We’re Floridians now.” “Almost,” Bridget said proudly. “And soon… officially, in every sense.” As the Yukon rolled onto Collins Avenue and the skyline thinned toward the water, Sally pressed her forehead to the glass. Her skirt was soft, her seat warm, her parents happy, Florida sunlight blinding. She wasn’t just passing through. She was moving. And despite the nerves, it felt good. -- Jana and Theresa stood in the Faena driveway watching the Yukon disappear into traffic. Jana slipped her sunglasses higher on her nose. “We give them an hour,” she said. “Then we leave.” Theresa smirked. “Think they’ll survive without us?” “Barely.” They headed toward the rental desk—Jana had already arranged a charcoal BMW X5 for them. Its only flaw: not black-on-black, as Jana preferred. She grumbled about it the entire way to the parking garage, which only amused Theresa further. -- Meanwhile, the Weiss family rolled south. The Yukon hummed along the Overseas Highway, sunlight flickering through the windows as it dappled the dashboard and Sally’s bare knees. Her phone glowed in her palm, but her parents’ conversation floated around her pleasantly. “…and Ken says the guest house needs repainting,” Bridget murmured. “White?” Adrian asked, doubtful. “Off-white. Slightly coastal.” “Of course. Miami people cannot simply say white.” Sally snorted softly. “Dad, you sound like Otto.” “Thank you,” Adrian said, proud. But then— A shimmer appeared ahead. Water. Miles and miles of turquoise, impossibly clear, rippling like sheets of glass beneath the sun. Sally’s phone dimmed in her hand. She forgot the group chat. Forgot the messages. Forgot everything except the ocean. “Whoa…” she breathed. Bridget twisted in her seat to grin at her daughter. “Welcome back to the Keys.” “It’s so… blue.” The kind of blue she felt in her lungs. Her first time to the Keys, she’d flown directly into Marathon, arriving late at night. She’d never seen the highway view coming in from Homestead. Adrian turned down the music without comment, letting nature speak for itself. They stopped for lunch at a cheerful beachfront shack where the tables were painted coral pink and teal. The air smelled like lime, fried garlic, and sunscreen. Sally’s plate arrived first—tossed spicy shrimp, still steaming. She picked one up, blew on it, and savored the heat. “This is paradise,” she declared between bites. “Try the iguanas,” said Adrian, pointing. A cluster of sunbathing lizards lounged under a palm trunk, unbothered by humanity. Sally hopped off her chair, grabbed a few leafy scraps, and crouched near them, trying to assume a position that wouldn’t reveal her diaper. “Hey, little dudes,” she coaxed, wiggling the greens. The iguanas stared at her with disinterest. “No? Not even a nibble? I feel rejected.” Bridget laughed, raising her phone. “Hold still, Sally!” “No, Mom—don’t—!” Click. Click. Bridget lowered the phone triumphantly. “Perfect. You vs. lizards: 0-1.” Sally rolled her eyes but smiled as she returned to her seat. She sipped her enormous iced tea—half sugar, half lemon, all Florida—and leaned back, soaking in the white-hot sun. Fifteen minutes later, lulled by heat, food, and the steady rumble of the highway, she curled up in the backseat and fell asleep. Bridget’s heart melted at the sight—Sally with her cheek pressed against a folded sweater, hair messy from the breeze, breathing soft and even. “She’s exhausted,” Bridget whispered. “She is rebuilding,” Adrian corrected gently. The road carried them forward. Bridge after bridge. Island after island. The world shifting from Miami glass to Keys calm. When they turned onto Sombrero Beach Road, Sally stirred—lifting her head, squinting out at the coconut palms lining the quiet lane. “Are we there?” she mumbled, rubbing her eyes. “Almost,” Adrian said. The Yukon rolled past sandy paths and quiet residential street until it ended with roundabout and turned into Corte del Brisas. Sally gazed out at the house Olivia had promised would be their sanctuary. Warm white. Sloping roof. Palm shadows dancing across the driveway. She exhaled, long and slow. “Home sweet home,” she whispered. “For now.”  And for the first time in months—the words didn’t feel imaginary. She just had to get out of her wet diaper. -- Florida arrived like a warm hand on Sally’s back. Gentle pressure, but unmistakably pushing her forward. Within days of settling at Sombrero Beach, she suddenly had what adults called “a Florida address.” Nobody made a ceremony of it, nobody sat her down and gave her a speech. One morning she simply woke up, padded into the kitchen still in her oversized t-shirt and shorts – covering her wet diaper, and found her mother saying, Oh, darling, by the way, we finalized your Florida residency. Just like that. It felt surreal. Maybe too easy. Maybe exactly right. Eventually a moving truck was summoned, carrying a load of some of their possessions from Hartford, along with her mom’s red Mercedes SUV and her own Range Rover. Her dad had even trucked the wedding Rolls-Royce to Marathon, and they cruised in it on weekends, discovering the Keys. And then Theresa ruined the moment with a thump. A book hit Sally’s stack of textbooks like a dropped brick. “This,” Theresa announced, arms crossed, “is your priority. Your exam is in two weeks.” Sally blinked at the cover. “Official Florida Driver License Handbook,” she read slowly. Then her eyes popped. “Two weeks? Seriously?” Theresa’s expression didn’t budge. “Yup. Intensive driver’s ed. Simulator. Mock tests. Quizzes. The whole nine yards. Then we get you into a car.” Sally groaned theatrically and fell back onto the sofa. “Can’t I have at least one week to, I don’t know, stare at the ocean and contemplate life?” “You can contemplate life from behind the wheel,” Theresa shot back. “Like everyone else.” But Sally was already sitting up again. Carefully. Thoughtfully. Driving. Her own license. Her own independence. Something fluttered in her chest, nervous and excited at once. So, she studied. Florida mornings became a rhythm: wake early to the sunrise over Sombrero Beach, stretch out the stiffness from yesterday’s jogging lesson, sip the coffee Jana forced into her hand, and crack open the handbook. A few hours later, she’d head to the Marathon driving school, tucked between a bait shop and a dive center. The simulator took some time getting used to.  It wasn’t a video game at all, and it felt strange driving and not feeling anything. Sally had snickered the first time. Out loud. Theresa, seated behind her doing paperwork for Adrian, didn’t miss a beat. “Zip it. You’re here to learn, not to critique their budget.” So Sally zipped it. And she learned. The instructor, a sun-worn man named Miguel, coached her with a soft Marathon drawl. “You brake too fast, you spook the car,” he’d say. “Look ahead, not at the line.” “Good. Hands steady. You hold the wheel like a grown-up.” And Sally let herself become a student, genuinely. Asking questions. Admitting confusion. Laughing when she messed up. Repeating modules until she got them perfect. A lot of the rules felt abstract. Why this kind of turn signal pattern? Why yield here but not there? Why so many exceptions? “Because,” Theresa had said one afternoon, glancing up from Adrian’s calendar on her tablet, “sometimes you study just to pass. Then real life teaches you the truth.” Sally nodded slowly. But deep down, she knew better. Life had already taught her the truth. A twisted guardrail in Connecticut… Glass on the asphalt… Her mother’s scream… The ambulance ride… She wasn’t studying for a test. She was studying to not die. She was studying to protect whoever sat next to her. So she committed herself. Every page. Every quiz. Every simulation. No shortcuts. No wincing away from the hard parts. This was her future. Her freedom. And as the first Florida weeks passed, the sunshine and the work stitched something back together in her—quietly, steadily—until even she began to feel it: She was becoming someone new. Someone strong. Someone careful. Someone ready. -- Florida days didn’t drift—they stacked. Schoolwork and driving school became twin pillars of Sally’s routine, and they were not gentle pillars. Olivia kept sending assignments with the force of someone who believed teenagers had infinite evenings and zero vitamin D requirements. And Otto… well, Otto sent essays like he was training Sally to run the IMF. “Why is everyone giving me homework?” Sally groaned one afternoon as she dropped her laptop onto the patio table. “Because you’re capable,” Bridget said simply, not looking up from her own stack of reports. “That’s not comforting,” Sally muttered, sliding into a lounge chair. “You’re welcome,” her mother answered. Her father had taken to traveling again, although he kept close. The Guflstream G700 became a usual visitor in the small airport in Marathon, and her father did his best to make up for the lost time the wedding cost him, although he admitted that Jeff and Anastasios had done a good job while he had ben away. Every day after driving school, Sally let herself have one small luxury: a pool dip. A quick one—five minutes, ten at most—just enough to rinse off the mental dust of simulator driving and rule memorization. The water was warm but refreshing, a soft December Florida warmth she still couldn’t believe was real. Connecticut felt like another planet. Then, dripping and towel-wrapped, she’d land back at the patio table. Her mother would sit nearby, reading or editing or emailing—busy, always busy—but present. Watching. Quiet company. “Your torque analysis for Otto?” Bridget asked one day without looking up. Sally groaned. “Don’t remind me.” “Have you done it?” “Mom…” “That’s a no,” Bridget concluded, amused. Sally inhaled, pushed her wet hair out of her face, and opened her laptop. Homework in a bikini. Life was weird. Weird—and kind of perfect. Eventually the warmth got to her—Florida’s gentle, constant coaxing—and she’d give up, toss her laptop inside, and slip back into the pool for a few slow laps before settling again. But she always finished her work, Always. Her dad was traveling again on business, making up for last time. But they chatted daily. Stuttgart. Dubai. Then back to Opa-Locka, where the Gulfstream had found a new hangar. But she always finished her work. Always. -- Mornings were sacred. Before the sun fully climbed past the horizon, Theresa would gently knock on Sally’s door. “Up, princess. Running shoes. Let’s go.” Sally would stretch, groan dramatically, and drag herself up, untaping her diaper, a quick wipedown, and pull on her gray leggings and loose shirt. The world always looked too bright at that hour. Theresa—walking stick now mostly forgotten—would drive them out to Seven Mile Bridge in the Range Rover. She moved slower than she used to, but each day her steps grew steadier, her posture straighter. Sally noticed. Sally admired. The routine was simple: Sally jogged. Theresa walked. Jana, if awake early enough, stood watch with her Ray-Bans on, looking like she was guarding royalty. On the bridge, the breeze slapped away whatever sleep Sally still carried. The ocean stretched on both sides, glittering and impossible. “Start small,” Theresa instructed, hands on hips. “Jog to the second marker, walk to the fourth. Repeat.” “I feel like a science experiment,” Sally muttered. “Good. Now run.” She did. Soft steps. Careful breathing. A slow rhythm her legs were relearning. Her bones protested sometimes, but not painfully—more like they were yawning awake. Theresa cheered her on in her dry, understated way. “Shoulders back.” “You’re doing better today.” “No, better than that.” “See? You can move like a normal human.” “Don’t glare at me. Keep running.” Sally would fake a scowl, then grin, then push herself again. Jog. Walk. Jog. Walk. Theresa watching. Jana guarding. Florida waking around them. It wasn’t the life she expected. It was better. -- Sally had come ready. Loose jeans, loose t-shirt – wearing a Goodnite as her padded sentinel for the intense life-changing moment. It had proved a blessing, as it was already wet, and Sally’s relief was palpable. And not only because her body was relaxed. “I passed!” Sally burst out of the DMV office like she’d been launched. Her permit fluttered in her hand as though it might take off too. She practically danced down the sidewalk toward Adrian, who had been leaning against the Yukon with the bored, resigned expression of a veteran parent waiting among an army of equally tortured parents. When he saw her grin, his face split into one of his own. “Gut gemacht,” he said proudly. Sally threw herself at him in a half-hug, half-victory tackle. She didn’t care if the waistband of her wet Goodnite showed or not.  “Can I drive?” she demanded breathlessly, pointing at the rental Yukon with reverence usually reserved for sacred relics. “No,” Adrian said immediately. Sally froze. “…Why not?” “It’s a rental,” he said, amused. “And you, meine Tochter, are not insured for rentals.” She folded her arms. “Technicalities.” “Important technicalities,” he corrected. “But—” he added with a twinkle, “I have a surprise waiting at home.” Sally’s heart lurched. “A Mustang?” she blurted. “Maybe a V6? Or… Dad, not a convertible mustang, please—I want to be the one who chooses it—” Adrian actually laughed. “Relax. No Mustang. Not yet. You’ve got a long road before you handle a V8. And not the Rolls. Or the Range Rover. Or your mother’s car.” Sally groaned dramatically. “So basically… I get to drive absolutely nothing in my own house.” “You’ll see,” he said, enjoying this far too much. They drove back through Marathon with the windows down. Sally didn’t look at her phone once. Her brain was buzzing like an overcharged battery—she didn’t care what she drove. A rusted-out pickup would make her cry from joy at this point. As they turned onto Corte del Brisas, Sally craned her neck, scanning the driveway for anything new, shiny, wrapped in a bow—nothing. But her mother stood outside the house, sunglasses pushed up on her head, warm smile wide. Next to her were Theresa and Jana, both grinning like accomplices in something big. The moment Sally stepped out of the Yukon, Bridget swept her into a hug. “Congratulations, sweetheart,” she murmured. “One more step toward adulthood. We’re proud of you.” “Another hazard on the road,” Jana said flatly, patting Sally’s back. “But it was inevitable.” “Finally,” Theresa smirked. “Now try not to scare pedestrians.” Sally rolled her eyes at all of them affectionately and turned to her father with laser focus. “Okay,” she said. “Enough love. Where is it? The surprise. The car. Show me.” Theresa lifted her brows and nudged Adrian. He grinned, walked to the Yukon, and reached for the visor. Click. The garage door whirred open. Sally held her breath. -- The garage door rose slowly—dramatically slow, as if it knew Sally’s nerves were stretched tight as violin strings. First she saw the familiar hulking curve of the Rolls Royce parked off to the right, smug as ever.  But the car directly ahead… that one emerged inch by inch from the shadows, nose first. A compact front grille. Oval headlights. A modest profile. Jana folded her arms. “Your first meters will be forward,” she said dryly. “So try not to run over the hibiscus.” Sally didn’t hear her. She stepped closer, squinting as the full shape came into view. A Ford. Light blue—or maybe silver depending on the sun angle—small, neat, almost cute. Not flashy. Not intimidating. Friendly. And absolutely hers. Her heart did something strange—like a tiny skip mixed with a jolt. “It’s… a Fiesta?” she asked, reverent. Theresa stepped forward proudly, like she’d just unveiled a work of art. “2019 Ford Fiesta sedan,” she said. “Barely used. They don’t make them anymore—not Ford, anyway. I found this one sitting in Miami. Perfect learner car.” Sally hovered a hand over the hood, then the door, then finally opened it. The interior smelled faintly of clean upholstery and sunshine. She slipped into the seat, settling behind the wheel. Then she froze. “Wait—” She looked down. Then back up. “Manual?” Adrian crossed his arms, smug. “Dr. Salcedo cleared you. And I thought… well, someday you’ll want to drive the F40. So you might as well learn how to shift now.” Sally’s jaw dropped. “You’ll let me drive the F40??” Adrian lifted an eyebrow, hands in his pockets—the picture of diplomatic amusement. “Maybe.” Sally didn’t shriek—she almost shrieked. Instead she gripped the steering wheel like it was a lifeline and turned wide, shining eyes toward her father. “I can’t believe this. A stick shift. My own car. This is—Dad, this is—” “Practical,” he interrupted dryly. “Safe. Lightweight. Easy to park. Economical. And if you stall it on the first day, it will forgive you.” Sally puffed defensively. “I won’t stall.” All four adults burst into laughter. Sally folded her arms. “…I won’t stall much,” she amended. She smiled, slow and glowing. “Hi,” she whispered to the car. “I’m Sally.” And somehow, the moment felt like the beginning of everything. -- Sally slid into the driver’s seat as though she were stepping onto a stage—nervous, thrilled, trying to look more confident than she felt. The leather was warm from the Florida sun; the steering wheel felt solid, familiar, inviting. She realized she was still wearing her wet Goodnite, but she didn’t care. Her mind was way too busy to pause now. She fastened her seatbelt with a decisive click. Adrian settled in beside her, adjusting his own belt, leaning back like a man trying very hard not to look like an overexcited father on his daughter’s first real drive. “Just breathe,” he said, soft and steady. Sally nodded, swallowed, and turned the key halfway. The dashboard blinked awake—tiny constellations of green, yellow, red—before settling into calm. “Okay,” she whispered. “Okay…” She turned the key fully. The Fiesta hummed to life. A warm rush went through her—relief, adrenaline, pride. The good kind of fear. She adjusted her seat until it felt exactly right. Lowered the steering wheel half an inch. Checked the mirrors. Twice. Adrian observed without interfering, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You know what to do,” he said, gently nudging her confidence. Sally pressed her lips together. Her left foot found the clutch; her right foot settled lightly on the brake. She released the handbrake with deliberate care, fingers trembling only a little. Clutch down. First gear. Clutch up—slowly, slowly— A whisper of gas— And then— Movement. The car eased out of the garage like a shy animal being coaxed into daylight. Sally’s heart jumped. “I’m doing it…” “You are,” Adrian said, voice tight with contained joy. She eased into the quiet street. Turned into the roundabout, cautious but smooth. “Okay,” she murmured, feeling the rhythm in her bones. “Okay, I can do this.” “Try second gear,” Adrian suggested. Sally pressed the clutch, slid the shifter up and forward, and eased off again. The Fiesta responded beautifully. Adrian’s grin widened. He tried—failed—to hide it. “You didn’t stall.” Sally allowed herself a quick, bright smile. “Yet.” “That’s the spirit,” he chuckled. They continued down Sombrero Beach Road, past palm fronds rustling in the breeze, the sun glittering off puddles from last night’s rain. Sally kept her hands steady at ten and two, feeling the growing connection between her and the machine. Even the warm bulk between her legs infused confidence into her, as a good-luck charm. Her turns were cautious but clean. Her braking a little abrupt at first, then smoother. She stalled twice—blushing furiously each time—and Adrian only laughed the soft, warm laugh of a proud father. They drove loops around the neighborhood. Practiced starts. Practiced stops. Practiced the delicate dance of clutch and gas until Sally’s motions became less guesswork and more instinct. By late afternoon, she was cruising confidently, windows cracked open, the ocean scent drifting in. Sally glanced sideways at her dad, who looked like he might burst from pride. “This is amazing,” she whispered. He rested a hand briefly on her shoulder. “Welcome to the driver’s seat of your life, Sally.” And she believed him.

Evelyn nodded her head and told her daughter to be good, after she closed the door made sure it was secure she then went to the CVS, it didn't take long for her to come back out with the things she needed, she even got a little candy treat for Valeria to have.

I do mine late at night. It's pretty rare that I have to wait for someone to get their laundry out of the washer or dryer.  I did have that happen a week ago when someone left their stuff in the dryer. Finally, I got my little spare basket, put their stuff in that, ran my stuff through the dryer.  The guy in question actually appreciated that.  For context, there is laundry machines on 2nd floor and on 3rd floor, both coin operated. The only thing I have with my laundry situation that I don't particularly care for, is that I budget enough for basic laundry chores, so I can only go once a week. If I feel the need to wear cloth, I have to plan it out so that I don't have the diaper sitting too long.  (Studio apartment)

High school