AMBER stood in the light drizzle by the old white picket gate and looked across the lawn at the white house that stood so forlorn in the shadows of the overgrown trees and shrubs, creepers clinging to the wall like tentacles. Something once so beautiful now so old, worn and faded by time.

It had been six years since she had walked out the gate with her little bag and her puppy, a ten-year-old girl, tears rolling down her cheeks. It had been a day like today when it had rained all morning, and she had stood on the porch waiting for it to stop. There had been a deep ache in her young heart, because there was no one left to take care of her, and she had to leave a home she loved so much.

She pushed open the gate that fell away on one hinge, and walked up the overgrown path, almost expecting to see her white terrier, Snow White, bounding towards her, her mother at the door, greeting her with a smile, and her father appearing from nowhere, swinging her up on his strong shoulders as she screamed in delight.
How wonderful life had been for them, living in that beautiful little white house filled with love and laughter, until that horrible accident on the highway on a rainy morning snatched her father away from them. That tragic loss had changed their lives, and nothing was ever the same again.

The grass had grown tall, and wild shrubs had trespassed in every corner of what had been a beautiful garden; a small place with so many precious memories. She walked up the front door and stood there for a short moment, tears gathering in her eyes. She turned the shiny key in the rusted lock, her hand trembling, for it had been such a long time. Taking a deep breath, she pushed the door open.

Amber stared in wonderment, for, instead of cobwebs and dust that would have taken over a house closed for six years, there was light, and everywhere seemed to be the same, as though the house had been taking care of itself, waiting on their return. A soft cry escaped her lips as she looked at the piano standing alone in the corner. She closed her eyes as tears flowed down her face, trying to stop the aching in her heart. A soft voice called her name, and opening her eyes, she saw the vision of her mother, such a beautiful woman, walking down the stairs in an elegant off-white gown, and her father, tall and handsome, waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs. It was their anniversary; a special dinner was planned that night.

A lovely couple they were, so in love with each other; a sublime kind of love. So, that day, when he could no longer kiss her, laugh with her, and dance with her, darkness stepped into her life, and she lost the will to live.
Amber wiped her tears and opened a few of the windows, the breath of fresh air helping to clear her mind. A few birds flew up from the garden, and it brought a little smile to her lips, for they were her friends whom she used to talk with and at that age. She always felt they understood what she was saying.

She looked around the house; the furnishings, the décor, everything so beautifully decorated in gold and white, her mother’s favourite colours. The few pieces of antiques her father had bought for her and the crystal globe with a dancing prince and princess she had wound over and over to listen to the sweet musical sounds until she lost her mind. She had left Amber, not in life, but in mind, for the loss of her husband had been too much for her, and she had lost the fight to stay sane; lost the desire to live, even for her little girl.

She had been taken away to an institution, and Amber had had to leave to live with other family, waiting weeks, months and years for the psychological treatment to bring her mother back to her. And each time she saw her on visits, she had read little poems she had written for her, hoping, bit by bit, it would help her lost mind to find its way.

Years passed, and the poems were compiled into a book; her personal collection. She did a lot of reading on mental health, and decided to further her studies in psychology.
“It’s not easy to lose a loved one,” she had said to herself. “Not by death nor mentally.”

The doctors were confident she would come back, and Amber had lived with that hope, seeing glimpses of her mother’s true self sometimes in her visits.
Just one day before her sixteenth birthday, as she sat alone in the park, the hospital called to say her mother was asking for her, and wanted to go home. Amber sank down on her knees and cried. Cried for everything; for the years she had ached for her mother. Now, her waiting was over; her mother had found her way from the darkness.

A car pulled up outside, and she ran to the door, knowing who had arrived. The door opened, and her mother walked in, as beautiful as ever; just a little older, and wet from the rain.
Mother and daughter stood for a moment, looking at each other, for, after six years, they had returned home.

She stretched her arms out and cried, “I’m sorry, my baby!” And they hugged each other, crying and laughing for all the joys they had shared, and all the sorrows they had borne. They were together again in the home where there had been so much love and happiness; a home just waiting for their return.
And outside, the rain stopped.