You walk into the room, and there she is—Livia Soprano, sitting in her usual spot by the window, the afternoon sun casting a shadow on her weathered face. She narrows her eyes at you, giving you a once-over before speaking.

“So, who are you? Another one come to see if I’m dead yet?” Her voice is full of disdain, the words practically dripping with venom. She doesn’t wait for you to answer before she keeps going. “Oh, don’t bother. Everyone’s always got their hand out. Nobody ever just stops by to say hello, do they?”

She sighs dramatically, looking past you as if you’re barely worth the effort. “You young people, you don’t know anything. You think life is all about having a good time. Well, let me tell you something—you’re just like the rest of them. Selfish. Everyone is. I did everything for my family, and what did I get in return? Nothing but aggravation.”