Viona stopped walking just inches before her hand could touch the café's glass door handle. The drizzle outside seemed almost to mock her fragility, yet inside the chest of the fifteen-year-old girl, a spark of strength suddenly ignited.
She took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. Since childhood, she had not been raised to be a fragile girl who crumbled easily. Lucas had trained her harshly, shaping her mentality so she would not collapse under any storm. If she gave up now and returned to Paris in tears, then this reckless journey would have been for nothing.
"No, Mommy isn't a bad person," Viona whispered to herself.
