A Mother's Hope is all I had

The study was bathed in a soft, amber light filtering through heavy curtains that blocked the harsh afternoon sun. The air carried the faint scent of old parchment and a hint of lavender from a small sachet on the windowsill. Shelves lined the walls, filled with leather-bound books and carefully folded maps. The polished oak desk was neat, save for a few scattered letters and a silver inkwell.

Lady Amalia stood by the window, gazing out over the garden where the blossom trees swayed gently in the breeze. Her hands were clasped in front of her, trembling just slightly. Despite the nobility that always marked her posture, there was a tenderness now, an openness that was rare.

A soft knock came at the door.

"Enter," Amalia called quietly.

Liora stepped inside, her small frame tentative. She felt the warmth of the room wrap around her like a gentle cloak, a stark contrast to the chill she'd carried for so long. She crossed to the desk, feeling the weight of Amalia's gaze settle on her.

"Please, have a seat," Amalia said, gesturing toward a chair opposite the desk.

Liora lowered herself slowly, her fingers curling tightly around Linna's ribbon hidden in her lap. She felt exposed, unsure.

Amalia came around the desk and sat across from her. Her eyes searched Liora's face, steady and clear.

"Liora," she began softly, "I have been thinking much about you since you came here. You have been with us but a short time, yet it feels as though you have belonged here far longer."

Liora blinked, surprised by the warmth in Amalia's voice. "I'm not sure I understand, my lady."

Amalia smiled gently, a glimmer of something wistful in her eyes. "There is something I want to ask you. Something important."

Liora swallowed, her heart beating faster. "Please… you can ask me anything."

Amalia reached into a drawer and pulled out a folded letter sealed with the Edelhardt crest. She slid it across the desk toward Liora.

"This is the first step in making you a permanent part of this household—officially under my guardianship. You would no longer be a guest but a member of House Edelhardt. Protected. Supported. Part of our family."

Liora stared at the letter, feeling a swirl of emotions, hope, fear, disbelief.

"But… I'm not one of you," she said quietly. "I come from a small village. I'm no noble."

Amalia's hand covered Liora's trembling fingers.

"You are now," she said with quiet certainty. "Not because of blood or birth, but because you have the heart of this family. Because you are who you are meant to be."

Liora's eyes brimmed with tears, the weight of loneliness lifting slightly. "I… I don't know what to say."

"Say only that you will consider it," Amalia replied. "I will write to Nan Theda and Father Gerwin to ensure they understand. But the choice is yours, child."

Liora nodded slowly, overwhelmed yet strangely at peace.

Outside the study door, Michael leaned against the wall, unseen. His grip tightened on the wooden practice sword he carried, knuckles whitening. His chest was tight, a storm of conflicting feelings raging inside him.

She was still just a girl like him, but more than that, someone who made his mother smile again.

He wished he could say it out loud, wished he could tell her she belonged here with them, but pride held his tongue.

And fear.

Fear that if he spoke, she might slip away like so many before.

That night, Liora lay awake in the quiet guest chamber, the unfamiliar softness of the bed beneath her a comfort and a reminder that her life had changed forever.

She clutched Linna's ribbon tightly in her hand, tracing the worn edges with her thumb. The ribbon was a fragile link to her lost sister, a tether to a past she carried with both pain and love.

Outside the window, the garden was dark but alive with the scent of blossoms that bloomed even in the chill of early spring.

She whispered to the stillness, "Linna… I think I'm staying."

A tear slid down her cheek, but for the first time in a long while, it was not just a tear of sorrow, but of something fragile and new, hope.