Golden Hour | Mark Lee

8

You took a seat next to her, laying your head on the table as you gazed up at her while she worked. Her face was weathered, but kind, strands of graying hair hanging from the loose bun tied at the back of her neck, framing her face as she sorted the herbs laid out in front of her, cutting them into equal pieces and then moving them into neat, separate piles.

She was humming quietly, an old nursery rhyme that she'd used to since to you as a child.

"What's wrong, dear?" she said, not looking up from her work.

"I've messed up, mother."

She set the herbs down, turning to look at you, wearing a small frown as she moved your hair out of your face, caressing your skin with the soft touch of a mother.

"What happened, darling?"

You sighed, closing your eyes under her touch. "It's not something I can talk about freely. But I think I'm stuck. I don't know what to do."

She smiled softly, clasping your hands between her own. "I think I know what this is about."

She continued, ignoring your look of surprise at her words. "All I can say is that it's okay to be a little selfish sometimes, Y/N. It's up to you to decide who's worth that moment, that one hour of indulgence, and who isn't."

You smiled back at her, gazing lovingly up at your mother. "Thanks, mother."

She hummed, turning back to her work. "Of course, dear."

~