You slipped into your favorite jeans and the T-shirt from your end-of-primary-school trip to Rome, bridging the gap between your old school and this new chapter.
Excitement and nerves swirled within you.
We adjusted the straps on your brand-new Eastpack backpack, replacing your trusty little satchel.
You looked radiant, my daughter.
At 1m 49 with a fierce spirit, teenage questions already brewing in your mind.
Thursday morning marked your return to college.
We took the metro together, the three of us. We waited 20 minutes with other new students and their parents at the gates, navigating the strict security under the Vigipirate plan.
They called your name and handed me a visitor's tag.
We took a few tentative steps forward.
Then, the staff directed us: "The girls go that way; parents, your welcome breakfast is to the right."
We parted in an instant.
You walked bravely alone into the grand hall. I searched for your eyes, but yours scanned for your elementary school best friend.
We watched from afar—you, our baby (born just yesterday, it seems), now stepping into college.
We skipped the coffee.
And then it came: that single tear, the one that held back through kindergarten and primary school.
Thursday morning, you entered college.
And I couldn't be prouder.
