Delia deserved a mother. A woman of beauty, of sophistication, of endless talents, of love and smells of exotic perfumes, but with a natural air of spices, of cinnamon, of endless love and smiles, and girlish giggles, and expertise of makeup and clothes.

She deserved someone who could bake her batches of cookies, without worrying if they were going to be charred rocks. That would last only a few hours, because they'd be so delicious, they'd be gone within a second. Someone who could bake a cake for the school fundraiser, and not have to stop off at the store to pick one up because it burned, or fell flat.

She deserved someone who could recite fairy tales of princesses and dragons, and endless romance that never died, of happy ever after, and once upon a time. She deserved someone who could read stories with cute little animal voices, and actually sound like animals, but even if they didn't, the attempt was so cute, that it didn't matter.

She deserved to have someone there for her to teach her everything a girl needs to know. Of makeup, and boys, and first kisses, and crushes, and what dresses were the best to buy for that time of year. She deserved someone who could surprise her with a pair of frilly socks, and actually accept them as something she'd giggle over and know it was time to grow up. She deserved to have someone buy her a bra, and actually know about it, and to know when she needed it, and what to buy, and where to buy, and what's best for little girls who shouldn't be as clueless as they are.

She deserved a mother who was alive, and there, and part of her life. She deserved warm hugs, and kisses on the top of her head, and someone who would tuck her into bed with a smile that promised dreams of a happy future, of endless love, and dry eyes, devoid always of tears.

She deserved so much.