Eternal Ephemerals

A mother's love

Sofia sat at the edge of the bed, watching her daughter through the doorway. Maya stood in front of the full-length mirror, smoothing the creases in her dress, her hair falling in soft waves over her shoulders. The golden afternoon light streamed in through the window, casting a warm glow across the room, and for a moment, Sofia felt like time had folded in on itself. Maya looked so grown-up, so composed, so radiant—and yet, in Sofia's eyes, she could still see the little girl who used to twirl around in princess costumes, laughing without a care in the world.

Her heart swelled with pride, but there was a familiar ache behind it. A quiet, persistent ache that came with motherhood—the fear, the love, the wondering. The awareness that, no matter how much you try, you can't protect them from everything.

Maya caught her mother's eyes in the reflection of the mirror and smiled, her face lighting up with that same warmth that Sofia had always known, the one that made people gravitate toward her, made her impossible not to love. "Do I look okay, Mama?"

Sofia blinked, pushing away the sudden emotion that rose in her chest. She smiled, standing up and walking over to her daughter, adjusting the strap of her dress gently. "You look beautiful, sweetheart. More than beautiful."

Maya laughed softly, a nervous sound. "It's just a work dinner, not a wedding."

But Sofia could see it, the weight of the evening pressing on her daughter. This wasn't just a work dinner—it was one of those moments, one of those pivotal points in life where things could change. Sofia had seen Maya work so hard for this promotion, balancing late nights and early mornings, always so determined to prove herself. And now, standing here, on the cusp of yet another success, Sofia felt that familiar rush of pride. Pride for the woman her daughter had become—strong, smart, kind. A woman who had worked for everything and deserved even more.

Sofia had made sure Maya had every opportunity she could give her. The world had been different when Sofia was young—different, and harder. Opportunities for women like her had felt distant, if not impossible. Sofia didn't want Maya to face those same limits. She had raised her daughter to be a better version of herself, to take the chances she had never been able to. And Maya had exceeded every expectation. She had become someone Sofia admired in ways she could hardly put into words.

But as she looked at her daughter now, so poised and confident, the old questions stirred again in the back of her mind, the ones that crept in late at night when the house was quiet.

Could I have been this? Could I have become someone like her if I'd had the same chances?

Sofia knew it was a selfish thought—one she tried to push away whenever it surfaced—but it lingered, nonetheless. Not out of envy, but out of a quiet wonder. Who would I have been if the world had been different for me?

But more than that—more than the pride and the questions—there was the fear.

Maya was remarkable, and Sofia knew it wasn't just because of her intelligence or her success. She was remarkable because, despite everything, despite the pressures of the world, Maya had never lost her softness. She had always been grounded, down-to-earth, kind. A woman who felt deeply, who cared deeply, who would go out of her way to make others feel seen, heard, and valued.

And that, Sofia knew, was both her strength and her vulnerability.

Maya was ambitious, yes—but she was also the kind of person who would sacrifice her own happiness for others if it came to that. She loved too much, gave too much, and the world wasn't always kind to women like that.

Sofia knew because she had been that woman once, too.

"Mama?" Maya's voice pulled her from her thoughts. She was looking at her now, concern flickering in her eyes. "Are you okay?"