"Honey." a knock on my door interrupted me from combing my straight blonde hair. It opened and revealed my mom holding a tray; it must be the food she mentioned earlier. She then placed the tray on my bedside table and came closer to my vanity, where I was located.
"Let me, honey." the comb I was holding was now in my mother's hand. Staring at my reflection on the mirror, I seem like a miniature replica of my mother if in a close-up view. We differ in age, but all in all, there is no doubt I am a Lockhart.
"What did happen, mom? I indeed am okay right now. I don't feel any wrong in my body." I honestly confessed to lessen her worries. I also want to know what made them worry that mom was the one who woke me up for sleep. Daily, it is always the butler or housemaid assigned to the task. Mom stopped for a moment and started to explain things earlier.
