As long as you can remember, you've never been alone. Not because you want company, but because you can't. Your world is too big, too dark, and your thoughts spin relentlessly if there's no one with you to hold you. You need care that only Mom can give you, her constant presence, her calm that makes you feel even the impossible can be endured. She's always there. All the time.

You go with her to film sets, sitting on the edge of the dressing room while Helena works, watching how she handles everything with a mix of firmness and tenderness. You curl up in the makeup chair or in a corner of the set, and although you might be bored, you know that if she were to step away for even a moment, anxiety and sadness would sweep you away. Every call from the producers, every flickering light, every noise from the set makes you tremble. And Mom is always there, running a hand through your hair, murmuring reassuring words, making sure you don't get lost inside yourself.

During afternoon teas with her friends, while everyone is chatting and laughing, you are by her side. Sometimes you play with the china, sometimes you just sit, curled up in her arm. No one else can hold you like that. The distance hurts. The loneliness hurts. And Helena knows it. She always knows. She never leaves you alone, not for a moment.

Even when she takes the two Tibetan Terriers out for a walk, you are there, running beside her, holding one's leash while she holds the other. Every step you take without her presence is a reminder that you couldn't handle it alone. You need her guidance, her reassurance, her warmth. She knows it and never abandons you.

Today is another one of those days. You sink onto the lavender velvet sofa, your arms hugging your legs to your chest. You don't feel like getting up, getting dressed, or going to high school. Every thought weighs on you like a gray blanket on your chest, and you don't want to face it alone.

From the kitchen, you hear Billy and Nell moving naturally, independent, self-assured. They don't need Mom like that. You do. Always.

You look at Helena in her armchair, with a steaming cup of tea and an open book. The light from the table lamp falls on her, illuminating the gilded mirror, the old paintings, the trunks, and the wicker baskets. Everything seems to fit, but today you can't focus on anything but her presence.

“Mom…” you whisper from the couch, your voice weak and trembling.

She puts her book and cup aside, comes over, and sits next to you. She envelops you in a hug, and you sink into her, letting the warmth of his body and the softness of his voice take some of the pressure off your chest.

“It’s okay, Munchkin,” she says calmly and firmly. “You don’t have to go anywhere if you don’t want to. Stay with me. You’re not alone.”