TRIANGLE

TAG #X

Mill's Childhood: A Lonely Beginning

As Mill lay awake one night, the room dimly lit by the soft glow of a nightlight, memories of her childhood began to surface. The echoes of laughter and footsteps from long ago filled her mind, but they weren't hers. They belonged to Edward, her older brother, the favored child.

Their parents had always showered Edward with praise and attention. He was their golden boy, the heir to the Rosenthal legacy. Mill, on the other hand, had often been overlooked, her achievements dismissed as insignificant compared to Edward's.

She remembered one particular evening vividly.

The Rosenthal mansion was bustling with activity. Guests filled the grand hall, their laughter and chatter echoing through the corridors. Mill, no older than seven, stood in the corner, clutching a small drawing she had spent hours working on. It was a birthday card for her father, filled with bright colors and shaky handwriting.

She approached him hesitantly, holding the card out with trembling hands.

"Daddy, I made this for you," she said softly.

Her father glanced at it briefly before patting her head absentmindedly. "That's nice, Mill," he said, his attention already shifting back to Edward, who was showing off a new trophy from school.

Mill's heart sank as she watched her father embrace Edward, praising him loudly for all to hear. She turned away, clutching the card to her chest, and retreated to her room, tears streaming down her face.

That moment, and many others like it, had shaped Mill's view of the world. She learned early on that love was conditional, that approval had to be earned. But no matter how hard she tried, she was never enough.

Sitting in the present, Mill couldn't help but compare her past to her current situation. Veronica, for all her flaws and control, had given Mill something her parents never had: attention.

Veronica saw her, listened to her, and-even in her most manipulative moments-made her feel valued. It wasn't always comfortable, but it was more than she had ever received from her family.

One evening, as Veronica rocked the baby to sleep in the nursery, Mill watched from the doorway.

"You're good with her," Mill said quietly.

Veronica glanced over her shoulder, a rare softness in her expression. "She's innocent. She deserves to feel safe."

Mill stepped closer, leaning against the doorframe. "Do you think I'll ever be good at this?"

"At what?" Veronica asked, placing the baby gently in her crib.

"Being... someone who matters."

Veronica turned to face her, crossing the room in a few steps. She cupped Mill's face in her hands, her gaze piercing.

"You already matter," Veronica said firmly. "You just don't see it yet. But I do."

The next morning, Mill and Veronica worked together to prepare the baby's breakfast. Mill had never been great with children, but under Veronica's guidance, she was beginning to learn.

"Hold her head steady," Veronica instructed as Mill attempted to feed the baby.

"I'm trying," Mill muttered, her hands shaking slightly.