Later, her little princess grew up.

Prettier and prettier. Sharper and sharper. More and more proud. But what of it? Her pride was a princess’s, and pride was a kind of privilege.

Whenever she and her husband brought their daughter out to gatherings and banquets, they were always met with envious eyes from all around. Outstanding grades, lovely looks, polished manners and talents—their daughter was their shared pride.

Until that day.

On the way to ballet class, a drunk driver came speeding past—and the daughter she had been so proud of never stood up again.

The life that followed was like living under an unbroken shroud.

Every day, every single day brought: her husband’s relentless blame, her daughter’s volatile moods swinging back and forth, and the company she had built from nothing beginning to tremble in the wind—employees tendering their resignations one by one, convinced she was finished, that the company couldn’t survive, that there was no future in staying.

She was crushed beneath it all, unable to breathe.

The company carried the dreams of her entire life. Her daughter was her flesh and blood. She could not let go of either. How desperately she had wished for someone to help her—her husband’s care, her daughter’s understanding, her employees’ support. She needed these things!

But there was nothing.

Nothing at all.

When she came home exhausted, she still had to face… whatever her daughter had smashed this time, her husband demanding to know why she hadn’t come home sooner, the housekeeper once again complaining that she simply couldn’t go on with this job.

Before the new housekeeper arrived, she was stuck at home: contacting agencies to find a replacement, calling doctors to schedule appointments, reviewing company emails, calming employees, preparing three meals a day, absorbing her daughter’s violent mood swings, and enduring her husband’s endless fault-finding.

She was no superhuman mother. She was no perfect wife. When arguments became routine, and blame, grievance, and mutual accusations became the daily order between husband and wife—

Her husband had probably had enough too. Work meetings, late nights, business trips—all manner of reasons to stay away from home.

Divorce had followed as a matter of course.

Sometimes she overheard people talking about her—what a hardship it must be, a single mother raising a disabled daughter, how admirable, how strong she was.

Those words of praise—she had no wish to hear any of them. All she had ever wanted was to be a carefree mother. No one wants hardship. No one wants to be a martyr…

She cycled through one housekeeper after another, one family doctor after another, always a different reason each time. This time, her daughter claimed the doctor had harassed her.

Because she hated taking her medication and being examined, her daughter had driven away six doctors.

She was truly exhausted…

Too weary to deal with any of it anymore—she just wanted it handled quickly. Pay the doctor to silence his complaints, then ask a friend to refer a suitable replacement.

But she could never have anticipated what came next: after she dismissed the doctor, his wife showed up at her company and caused a scene—accusing her of seducing her husband! Calling her a homewrecker in front of everyone!

She had never sent that message!

She would never pursue another woman’s husband!

She had done nothing—and yet she was publicly humiliated! Branded with that filthy reputation!

The only person who could have gotten hold of her phone was her daughter.

She truly did not understand. They were mother and daughter, not enemies. Why would her daughter do this to her? Was the life she had struggled so hard to hold together just a joke to her daughter?

After everything she had given—what had any of it amounted to?!

“There are so many people who turned their lives around after becoming disabled! People who’ve lost their sight, their hearing—people who’ve had half their bodies amputated! They’re all living well! Why can’t you?! Why can’t you manage it?! Why are you torturing me?!!!”

Her daughter’s eyes were blazing with tears, her voice filled with hatred as she screamed: “Get out! Get away from me! I never want to see you again!”

Raising a clever, healthy child is a blessing.

But pulling a child out of a pit they have fallen into—that is so hard, truly so hard…

Just like growing a rose in this frozen wasteland. Even if you pour your whole heart into it, there is no guarantee of any reward.

She stood alone on the ice, her spirit hollowed out, looking at the bud with its bared, vicious teeth. “This time… will it bloom…”

—