The moment Neoma’s eyes fell upon the woman standing before her, her breath caught painfully in her chest. It was as if the world around her blurred, leaving only the figure of her mother in sharp, unforgiving focus. The same rose-blonde locks. The same hazel-green eyes. She hadn't changed, not enough to make her look like a stranger—and yet she couldn't reconcile the woman before her with the one she had buried in her heart fifteen years ago.
Gumamela Belmonte—no, Gumamela Lorenzo—her mother, the woman who had left her—stood with an air of restrained calm. But her gaze betrayed a deep, unspoken longing, the kind that had been stifled for far too long. Neoma’s stomach churned as years of repressed emotions flooded her system, tangled in a whirlwind of anger and aching desperation.
Her li
