Apology To Christopher

Morning tiptoed into Liana's home, its gentle rays cascading through the kitchen window, painting the room in a soft, golden hue. The air was filled with the tantalizing scent of breakfast delights, a harmonious symphony of sizzling bacon and fluffy pancakes dancing on the stove. Liana's mother emerged from the kitchen, a tray in her hands laden with culinary treasures, her heart aflutter with maternal warmth and concern.

"Liana, breakfast is served," she called out, her voice carrying a melody of care as she scanned the room, her gaze landing on her daughter, who sat at the kitchen table, a picture of melancholy.

Liana's mother approached, her footsteps cautious, as if afraid to disturb the fragile veil of sorrow that enveloped her daughter. With a tender touch, she rested her hand on Liana's shoulder, a silent gesture of comfort and support.

"Liana, my dear, what troubles you so?" she inquired softly, her voice a gentle breeze in the storm of Liana's emotions.

Tears welled in Liana'
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