translated ♛ || a. griezmann

•vingt huit•

A/N:

Sorry for the long wait and theboring chapter ahead ._. It's crucial for the plot, though. You can just skim over it if you don't feel like reading it all, since there's very little of Antoine as well. 

Double update today, though! :)

When I finally get home from Antoine's house the next morning, I run into my mother's arms for the first time.

"Oh mon dieu, my Rosé..." she cries out, grabbing me and pulling me into a tight hug, "I almost lost you."

"I'm alright, I'm alright." I tell her repeatedly..

"You're alive, you're alive, oh you're alive," she repeats over and over again as she strokes my tangled hair.

"Yes, I'm alive." It doesn't seem likely, but I really am alive after all of that chaos.

"Rosé, follow me." She says, motioning for me to walk with her.

We enter my room and she sits down on my bed.

"Sit here," She says, patting the area next to her on my bed.

"What is it?"

"I want to talk to you about a few things," She tells me.

I furrow my eyebrows, knowing that it's definitely going to be about my life in Madrid and what my future was going to be. After all, that's really all she cared about.

Instead, though, she finally decides to acknowledge the fact that I am her child.

"I still remember when you were born," she smiles longingly, tears still lining her eyes, "you came out pretty quiet, surprisingly. There were small strands of hair already growing on your head, and they were a light brown color, almost like mine."

I raise my eyebrows in curiosity.

"I remember the look on your father's face when he first saw you. It was one of joy, relief, oh and slight jealousy," she chuckles.

"Jealousy?"

"Yeah, because you came out looking like me."

"How could you tell?" I chuckle.

"Oh, believe me. You looked exactly like me when you were small." She smiles sadly, "Your father was quite upset about that."

My father.

"Maman, why did you leave us? You never answered me." I suddenly ask.

Her smile falters, but she continues to look at me.

"It was hard. It was very hard." she says, "There were actually 2 reasons."

"What do you mean?"

We both lean back and collapse onto the bed, knowing that this is one of, if not the first time we'd ever bonded.

"I was never home because of my job. It seemed ironic too, since usually its the fathers who tend to move around a lot because of their job. My job wasn't exactly what I wanted, and I didn't get much revenue out of it to support our family either. That's why I was so harsh on you growing up, because I didn't want you to end up like me." She says, looking down.

"What do you mean your job wasn't what you wanted?"

"I was a consultant meaning I had to move around a lot. If I couldn't even advise my own family well, how was I going to be good at advising other people?" She asks.