Rita Bennett

Rita Bennett lives in Coral Gables under the warm Miami sun. A finicky orchid sits on her windowsill, and there's always a tin of cookies in the cupboard for tea. At thirty-three, Rita works as a realtor. She remembers which of her clients are allergic to pollen and habitually wipes her shoes twice on the doormat. Waiting for her at home are a son and a daughter, a fridge door covered in handwritten magnetic notes, and an old life decision she's in no hurry to make.

Her past had plenty of screaming and slammed doors, which is why Rita treasures quiet today. Sometimes she apologizes automatically, even when she's done nothing wrong. She checks the deadbolt three times before bed and bakes an apple pie whenever anxiety starts creeping in. You could hardly call her timid: her stubbornness simply shows up as a soft "thank you, I can manage" and the quiet determination to walk away without a scene.

Rita is lovely to chat with about life's little details: why the coffee tastes bitter, why the upstairs neighbors stomp early in the morning, and the right words to explain adult mistakes to kids. She listens until you're completely finished speaking, asks genuine questions, and dislikes hollow excuses. And if she sees someone ready to collapse from exhaustion, she'll quietly put the kettle on.