Morning Glory

Veronika gets a letter

Who is the first person you run to in hard times? Why? Is it because they listen to you? Do they try to help? Or do you just feel seen by them?

Little Doeria Rosso sat quietly reading her mother’s letter, unsure how to react. Where is an adult when you need them?

In the end, she stood up, grabbed the letter and headed to the only place she could think of.

Over at the Rosso house, there were different kinds of letters arriving.

Bills, ads… From Marcel.

Abigail’s eyes widened, and her heart sank.

-That is for me!-Veronika grabbed the letter from her hand.

-Why is he writing to you?

-We’re friends.-answered Veronika trying to shut down the topic, but Abigail’s mind has already begun racing.

What might be in the letter? Is it about her? She had to know!

Hesitant knock on the door. As Aurelia opened up, she saw her husband’s niece, Doeria, shifting awkwardly on her feet.

-My son… What are you doing here?

-Auntie Lia, yes… ohm my mom’s. She’s… well, when I got home from school… so she’s..-Doeria stuttered, clutching her mother’s letter in her hand. When Aurelia saw that little Doeria had trouble finding the right words to describe what had happened to her mother.

As Aurelia glimpsed through the letter, she had to gather all her strength to not show her honest reaction in front of the kids.

-She jumped in the well-She gasped lightly.

The following few weeks, Doeria moved in with her cousins in the Rosso house, while her father, uncle, and Auntie Lia tried to sort out her mother’s things and prepare for the funeral. She’s stayed there many times before, but she’s never had to hear before the adults quietly conspiring in the other room, all while trying to keep the children away from all of it.

Children don’t need to know everything. And as parents, they knew they had to be the ones to provide comfort for the young ones in times of tragedy.

Rosa Zevean wasn’t a stranger to tragedy herself. She was born south of the capital in a small village of travellers, and her whole life she dreamed of living in the mountains. But unfortunately her responsibilities have always caught up with her faster than she could dream.

When she was only 14, after her father had shot himself, she moved up to the capital to start working. As fate would have it, she ended up helping out at the biggest electrical company in the city. Where he met the charming and clever Frank, who immediately fell for the beautiful and fragile girl who radiated a certain regality against all the poverty she came from. She humbly and quietly worked between the city girls, but wherever she went, she attracted admiring eyes over her dark curls and doe-like face that always seemed to carry a deep sadness no one could ever reach. A young Frank Zevean was handsome. Tall, well-mannered and dreamy grey eyes reflecting the softness of his soul even when he tried to hide it. So soon Rosa became a wife, then a mother. First with Felix when she was just 20 years old; in a few years came Eric and finally Angela, named after Frank’s favourite song. The connection between father and daughter was undeniable from the first moment, and Eric quickly adapted to the chaos and busyness of everyday life at the Zevean house and knew if he wanted attention or care, he had to take it. But Felix, she just couldn’t get through. The more she tried to show him how she would give up her whole life for him, the more she could feel him push away. He didn’t want to take attention from anyone; he just wanted to stay easygoing, funny and always a little bit distant.

After years of being in the capital, Rosa forgot about the mountains. However, moving to the suburbs gifted her with an unexpected source of comfort.

Her kids had their own lives already; her husband Frank found his own comfort at the bottom of the bottle. So she stayed in the garden, soaking in the warmth of the Indian summer, which seemed to be her forever home now, whether she liked it or not. She looked over to the house opposite theirs, where a nice family lived with their daughters. The handsome and kind father Misha, sitting on his porch, looked back at her with a smile so warm that Rosa felt her 14-year-old self find safety in it. The wall she had built around her heart started to melt, and she could dream of the mountains again.

Doeria wasn’t sure how to handle her mother’s death. She couldn’t say it was sudden. Her mother was ill; she knew that. She was in the hospital often; she also knew that. But she still couldn’t prepare her young mind for what life was going to look like without her mother. Veronika, however, didn’t let her cousin worry too much about the future, as they had important business playing together. Abigail took her chance, while her sister was distracted with Doeria, to peek between her stuff and take hold of the mysterious letter. And there it was, the answer she’d been looking for.

“She doesn’t know what to do when we’re kissing…”

“I don’t want to get back with her; I just don’t want the train ride to be uncomfortable.”

“I’ll break up with her again if we get back together.”

Hurt. Hurt. Hurt. A broken heart of a teenage girl that seems everlasting. Aurelia looked at the sad children losing hope in her house. How to fix this? How to give them comfort? How do you replace the irreplaceable woman in a child’s life? How do you tell your heartbroken daughter that in a few years she won’t even remember that cowardly boy? Aurelia never felt like she could be the woman to give a speech so touching that it heals the broken. So instead she did what she could. She baked a pie. She tidied up. She made the kids’ bed, did their laundry, and gave them dinner. Then put them to bed, gave them a kiss on their head and wished them good dreams. She fell asleep knowing she didn’t do enough.

There were many kids in Aurelia's home over the years. Children, nieces, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. And they all knew that if they were going to Aurelia, that meant warmth, care, and comfort.