The grand doors of the mansion swung open with a flourish that morning, and in swept Miss Wilson—Kiss's mother—like a whirlwind of unbridled joy.
Her arms overflowed with baskets brimming with vibrant fruits and crisp vegetables: ruby-red apples, sun-kissed oranges, bundles of fresh greens that still carried the earthy scent of the market.
It was her first visit since the shadows of old grudges had begun to lift, and she moved with the lightness of someone finally unshackled from years of bitterness.
Her eyes sparkled, fixed solely on her daughter, Kiss, who stood in the foyer, pregnancy glow softening her features.
"Oh, my darling girl!" Miss Wilson exclaimed, her voice thick with emotion as she thrust the baskets forward. "Look at you—radiant as the dawn! These are for you, to keep that precious belly of yours strong and those little ones thriving. No daughter of mine will want for nourishment under my watch."
