[Diana Perspective]
My story began many years ago. I used to live alone with my mother and father, in a quiet life not perfect, but beautiful enough. We would eat together at a small table in the kitchen, laugh while my father carried me on his back and spun me around the room, and my mother would watch us with a soft smile I still can't forget to this day.
My father worked in the police department in our district. He was a calm man with a stern face, but at home, he became someone entirely different. Warm, kind, and when he called my name, his voice made me feel completely safe.
Our life followed a simple routine. Father left for work in the morning, and Mother stayed with me at home. Sometimes she'd take me to the nearby park, where I played with the neighborhood kids while she sat on a wooden bench, watching me from afar. Other times, we'd visit neighbors or go buy bread from the local bakery.
