Regrets and Revelations

ROMAN

The morning sun filtered through the windows of my mother's kitchen, illuminating the dark-roasted coffee in my cup. Steam rose in lazy spirals, a stark contrast to the storm brewing inside me. My head still throbbed from last night's alcohol—a reminder of my momentary weakness with Seraphina.

"Your father would be proud of how you've handled the increased rogue activity," my mother said, breaking our brief silence. "But he would also tell you that fear cannot drive your decisions."

I stared into my coffee. "The rogues are organized now. Coordinated. It's nothing like what Dad faced."

"That's not entirely true." She reached for the toast between us. "Your father dealt with organized threats too. He just handled them differently."

"By not drinking himself into oblivion and ending up in bed with the wrong woman?" The bitterness in my voice surprised even me.

My mother's eyes flashed. "By not letting guilt consume him."