Then, she heard Celia whisper, "I've never seen them since I was little. I don't know why they abandoned me... or even if they're still alive."

"Unlike Elisa, who has a mother who loves her."

Celia spoke absently. Lena didn't reply, only tightening her arm around the girl's waist, her own mood sinking.

As if recalling something, Celia frowned, pouting slightly. "That man Aul—he does care for me, but he never tries to understand my heart. He takes everything I say at face value. It’s infuriatingly simple-minded."

"And I always feel his concern isn’t born of affection, but duty."

"He’s the steward. I’m the young mistress. No matter how willfully I act, he’d never scold or strike me. He just... indulges me. Unless my demands cross a line."

Aul had been by her side since childhood, yet Celia struggled to feel true closeness. To her, he was merely a stern steward—never a father figure.

Over the past two months, Lena had learned the Fiona Clan’s basics through Sharin. She knew Celia’s parents were the clan’s public leaders—until they vanished without a trace over a decade ago, leaving only a letter bequeathing the clan to their daughter. Until Celia could rule, Steward Aul held power.

Though Celia complained, Lena saw a steward truly honoring his duty—never once touching the clan’s wealth. Altering that letter or quietly eliminating Celia would’ve been effortless for him.

The clan’s strangeness gave Lena a headache. Setting it aside, she asked softly, "Do you envy Elisa?"

Celia hesitated, her expression conflicted. She bit her lip, thinking long before answering:

"Sometimes... I wish I’d been born ordinary. No endless etiquette lessons. No constant banquets. Just time for myself—like now."

"Most of all... parents who love me."

Imagining that life, Celia smiled. Her smile was sweet, yet Lena only felt pity. Guilt washed over her like a tide. For a moment, she didn’t know whether to keep her arm around Celia’s waist.

Silence settled. Celia closed her eyes, chest rising and falling gently. After a long pause, Lena’s voice trembled with fragile hope:

"...If your parents were alive... would you hate them?"

She knew Celia must hate them. Yet she clung to a sliver of hope.

*What if... just what if...*

"Yes."

Celia’s reply was ice-cold. No hesitation. No thought. Just those two words.

Lena bit her lip, looking away.

*Of course. How could a mother who abandoned her infant daughter ever deserve forgiveness?*

Compared to Mrs. Josephine, she was a monster.

Still, shamelessly, she craved Celia’s affection. She wanted to stay—to mend what she’d broken, even if forgiveness was impossible.

Lena pulled Celia close, murmuring into her ear: "You can call me mother. Then you won’t need to envy Elisa. I’ll care for you, always."

Celia stiffened. This vulnerable, pleading Lena was unfamiliar. But even seeing her so fragile—

"I’m sorry, Sister Lena," Celia said gently. "You’re not my mother. What we have now... is already perfect."

*Landlady and tenant? Or just close friends?*

Lena held her tighter. Greedily. She wanted more than "perfect."

"Sister Lena?" Confused by today’s strangeness, Celia sensed Lena’s need for comfort. So she hugged back.

"You know... I have a daughter. Your age..."

The words struck Celia like thunder. She stared, doubting her ears. But seeing Lena’s sorrow, she stayed silent—just listening.

"I failed her terribly. Circumstances forced me to leave... to let her grow up alone. I haven’t seen her since..."

"All these years, I’ve ached for her. I wanted to go back—but I... I couldn’t."

Lena left the rest unspoken. Celia understood: some pains run too deep for words.

"Since you girls came... my heart’s been lighter. You’re as precious as my daughter. If she ever stood before me again—I’d never let go."

"Sister Lena..."

Celia whispered her name, warmth blooming in her chest. This gentle woman carried such hidden pain. Abandoning a child—how it must have torn her apart. No wonder she never spoke of her daughter. Or her husband. *Was he a coward too?*

*Maybe... she treats us like her own children. That’s why she cooks dinner every night. Like a real family.*

The thought made Celia’s heart clench. She wanted to comfort her—but the words stuck. Instead, she pushed Lena away, crossing her arms with a soft hmph.

"Ugh, Sister Lena. Since you’re so desperate to be my mother... fine. *Just for tonight*."

She peeked at Lena’s face.

Exactly as expected: pure, radiant joy. Lena’s arms wrapped around her again, soft warmth pressing against her cheek.

*It’s not that I don’t want to struggle... I just don’t want to hurt her!*

Celia settled into the embrace, breathing in the scent of flowers and soft warmth.

Silence wrapped them, melting autumn’s chill. For a fleeting moment, she wished—just wished—Lena truly was her mother.

"Thank you..."

The whisper brushed Celia’s ear. She let out another hmph, feigning indifference. But where Lena couldn’t see, the corners of her lips lifted high.

*Even the gentlest landlady has fragile moments.*