Anna listened in silence as Kathrine spoke, each word painting a childhood she had lived but never fully understood. The neglect. The way she was seen only when something was needed. The way affection always felt conditional, borrowed, never truly hers.
When Kathrine finally fell quiet, Anna spoke.
"What changed?" she asked.
The question was soft, almost fragile, yet it carried a weight that made Kathrine's chest tighten. Anna held her tears back with sheer force of will. Her eyes glistened, but her gaze remained steady, demanding the truth.
Kathrine opened her mouth, then closed it again.
For the first time since the conversation began, she had no defense. No justification. No carefully framed explanation.
"I…" Her voice faltered. "I do not know."
Anna's lips trembled, but she kept her composure. "Something must have changed," she said. "Because I did not just lose my mother's love. I gave it away. Over and over."
Kathrine felt the words like knives.
