She smiled warmly.

“Your mother would be proud.”

Outside, sunlight fell across the daisies in my hands.

I paused, breathing in their soft scent.

For the first time in years, the pain felt lighter.

Instead, there was warmth—like my mother was still with me.

And I understood something.

Kindness doesn’t just heal in the moment.

Sometimes, it quietly grows… waiting years to bloom again.

Just like those daisies I once thought I had taken—

but were always given with love.