She lived in a mango tree. Could she help it? No! She was stubborn as a mule.
“You’re wrong, just admit it.” She mumbled as she sat with her arms crossed. “I can so live on my own.”
Back at the house, Richard asked, “Do you really this will work?”
His wife, Amy, glared at him as she placed her famous lasagna on the windowsill. “It’s her favorite. She’ll come back inside in no time.” She turned to Richard. “It’s been a week, how much longer do you think she’s willing to survive on mangoes? She hates mangoes.”
“Shame on you, mom,” she said while staring at the lasagna from the window of the tree-house, “for trying to lure me back.” She shook her head. “I won’t give in so easily.”
A soft knock on the door and quietly, she entered the house. Amy was sitting at the table. “I’m sorry, mom. You’re right. I need you.”