Today, I’m finally cradling my grandson in the armchair where his mother grew up. On Sundays, Lina and her little Nina come for lunch. Our stories are different, but our solidarity is the same.
My daughter is learning that you can ask for help without being weak. I’ve come to understand that my example wasn’t a failing, but a strength.
In this house, there are no more labels.
Only love.
Because ultimately, the most beautiful influence a mother can pass on is that of a love that never gives up.
