Return to the Past

Leticia gasped, her chest rising sharply as though she'd just surfaced from icy water. Her heart pounded, and a cold sweat beaded on her skin. She coughed, her lungs constricting as if deprived of air. She remembered…the fog, Aya's scream, then emptiness. But now the ceiling overhead was all too familiar. A ceiling she recognized.

She blinked several times, trying to focus. Soft morning light filled the room. Slowly, Leticia propped herself up on her elbows and looked around. This place…it was different. Not the gloomy palace walls or aristocratic splendor. Instead, it felt warm and cozy, full of memories of her mother. Her heart tightened at the strange familiarity of it.

No. This can't be real.

She sat up abruptly, her head swimming, but she ignored it. Her first thought was to look for the fog. Where was it? Where was Aya? She jumped out of bed, feeling an odd lightness in her limbs, as if her body had suddenly become younger, stronger, more alive.

—Aya?! — she called, her voice echoing against the walls.

She dashed to the door, flung it open, and ran into the hallway. Everything was painfully familiar—wooden floors, the scent of dried herbs, pale walls. Her mother's house. The very same house that had burned down…or was supposed to have burned down?

Leticia inhaled sharply, her hands clenching into fists. She hurried back into the room, scanning everything in a feverish attempt to find some clue, some explanation. I died. I was supposed to disappear. Why am I here again?

Her gaze locked on a mirror.

She approached it, holding her breath. Her fingers trembled as she touched the cold glass. The reflection showed neither her older self—haunted by betrayal, loss, and pain—nor the weary woman she had become. Instead, it showed Leticia at fifteen.

Her lips parted in shock, her eyes wide. She lifted her hand, and the reflection did the same. She touched her face and felt a smooth, youthful complexion.

This… This can't be. Someone must be playing a trick on me. Or…is this some kind of punishment?

Suddenly, soft footsteps sounded outside the door. The handle turned, and a woman walked in. Leticia froze, her breath catching in her throat. Standing there was her mother, just as she remembered her in childhood—kind, warm eyes, a gentle smile, and a soothing voice.

— Leticia, you're awake already? — her mother asked, tilting her head slightly.

Leticia's throat tightened; she couldn't speak. Hot tears threatened to spill from her eyes. It was impossible, and yet here her mother stood, real and alive.

— Are you alright, dear? — her mother asked, stepping closer.

She didn't wait for an answer. Sitting gently on the bed, she reached out and brushed Leticia's hair aside, her touch soft against Leticia's forehead.

— You're trembling — she murmured, pulling a blanket around Leticia. — Did you have a bad dream? It's alright, I'm here.

Leticia felt her mother's warmth, her concern—that sense of security she'd lost so long ago. But why was this moment happening again? If it was a dream, she never wanted to wake from it.

She couldn't hold back any longer. Fighting the tremor in her hands, Leticia flung her arms around her mother, clutching her as though afraid she might vanish.

— Mom… — she whispered, her voice quivering. — Is this…real?

Her mother simply stroked her hair, drawing her in closer.

— It's alright, sweetheart…I'm right here — she said, her voice filled with love and tenderness.

Then she smiled and produced a tray holding a steaming bowl of soup.

— You've been sick, Leticia — she said gently. — You need to eat and regain your strength. I made your favorite.

The soup's aroma stirred a flood of memories—days of childhood illness, tears cried into pillows, times when the world felt too cruel. It all came back in that rising steam: warmth, safety, and the knowledge that she was unconditionally loved.

Leticia looked at her mother, tears welling again. She wanted to speak, but words caught in her throat.

— Mom — she managed, voice trembling. — Why…why do you take such good care of me? I…I'm not the best daughter…

Her mother's soft smile never wavered. She gently squeezed Leticia's hand.

— Because you're my daughter — she replied quietly. — And because I love you, no matter what. I just want you to be happy. No matter who you are, you'll always be my little girl.

Leticia tightened her hold on her mother's hand, feeling a cocoon of comforting warmth close around her. Relief, fear, gratitude—they all coexisted in her heart. If this is a second chance…if I can truly change things…

She didn't know what lay ahead, but for now, in this moment, she wanted nothing more than to savor her mother's presence.

Carefully, she raised a spoonful of soup to her lips. The first sip was scalding, but it tasted of home—of childhood. It wasn't just soup, but love, care, the certainty that in this place, she was safe.

— Thank you, Mom… — she whispered, letting the warmth spread through her.

For the first time in a long while, she felt at home again.

Then her eyes drifted back to the mirror, and her heart turned cold. The reflection that looked back at her wasn't hers.