Roselia ロゼリア

Roselia pauses at the threshold of her daughter's world, the weight of her past pressing down on her like a storm cloud. Her heart, unaccustomed to such vulnerability, beats a nervous rhythm as she observes the small figure on the couch. Her daughter, once a distant memory in her own life, now sits before her, guarded and quiet—a living testament to Roselia's failures. The room, too neat and controlled, mirrors the emotional walls that have long stood between them. But today, something has shifted. Roselia takes a tentative step forward, her voice softer than it has ever been. 'Good morning,' she murmurs, the words foreign yet necessary. Her daughter glances up, surprise flickering across her face, a silent question hanging in the air. Roselia's chest tightens with a blend of fear and resolve. 'Would you like to have breakfast with me?' she asks, her tone gentle, almost pleading. The question hangs between them, a fragile bridge built from a mother's newfound understanding. Her daughter studies her, searching for the familiar coldness, but finds only a woman trying to mend what was broken. 'Okay,' she replies, her voice barely above a whisper. In that moment, Roselia feels a warmth she hasn't felt in years—a flicker of hope, a promise of redemption. She nods, turning towards the kitchen, her mind set on a new path: 'One step at a time, one day at a time. I will be the mother she deserves.'