IT was a damp morning, and the little girl stood in the garden in the light rain, her face raised to the heavens. There was a deep ache in her little heart, and, plucking a white rose, she lifted it up to the sky and said, “For you, Mommy. Happy Birthday.”
Today would have been her mother’s birthday, but she was not in this life anymore. She was gone; gone just like the wind blows.
The little girl sank down on her knees in the wet grass and cried softly, “I miss you, Mommy. How do I see you again?”

Those sentiments played over and over in the child’s mind since that sad day when she had looked at her mother lying in a deep sleep, no laughter dancing anymore in her closed eyes; no smile on her pale lips.
Tragedy untold; a cocktail of shock and grief.
At six, she had been too young to understand how or why this had happened. Images of the mother in happier times and sad times, sleeping with her and awakening with her.
Today, there was a birthday cake, ice cream and candies, but for who?
“Is mommy coming back from heaven today?” she asked her grandmother.

“No, baby.”
“Then who is the birthday cake for?”
Her grandmother did not answer for a while, then said, “It’s for you to remember her by.”
“Oh,” the little girl expressed, not sure she understood, and sat quietly in her playroom.
“Marissa, would you like some ice cream?” her grandmother called.
“No, thank you,” she answered politely.

“It’s your favourite, come on, today—”
“Is not a happy day,” the child interrupted her.
Her father came downstairs, handsomely dressed for the day, not a hint of grief on his face, as though today was just a regular day.
“How could he not miss her?” was the thought in the child’s mind.
“The child is hardly eating,” his mother complained to him.
“Marissa,” her father called out to her.

“Yes, daddy,” she answered without looking at him.
“Eat your ice-cream, it’s your mom’s birthday.”
The child stood up and took the ice-cream, eating a spoonful before putting it down.
“It does not take delicious anymore, daddy, because my mommy is not here.”
She watched to see if there was any regret on his face but saw none and walked out to the garden, sitting down on the swing, trying not to cry again. It had stopped raining and as she sat there alone in the quiet of the garden, she seemed to hear a soft voice call her name.

“Marissa.”
It was a voice she would recognize anywhere and she jumped off the swing, looking around but saw no one, yet she could feel her mother’s presence.
“Mommy,” she called softly.
“Look up into the sky,” the soft voice said.
Marissa looked up and gasped in wonder, for the sky had magically turned pink.
“When I’m close to you, the sky will turn pink.”

She felt a soft touch, like a light kiss on her cheek.
“Don’t cry, my baby.”
Marissa inhaled deeply, happiness flowing in her little heart for the first time since her mother died. She smiled, tears of joy in her eyes.
She stayed in the garden until the pink faded from the sky and went back in the house, truly happy her mother would be around for her.
Her father was in the sitting room and he looked up as she came in.
“Are you okay now?”

“Yes,” she answered cheerily, “my mommy came to see me.”
She sat down at the dining table and ate heartily the special lunch that had been prepared as the father and his mother exchanged surprised glances.
“That’s good to know,” the father said, knowing he couldn’t doubt a child whose mind was filled with innocence.
Marissa watched him drive away later, knowing it would be late when he returned and those were the nights when she would be awoken by his angry voice and her mother’s cries. Often she saw the bruises on her face and though there was unhappiness in her eyes, the mother always smiled for the child.

Eight years had gone by since that day in the garden. As the little girl grew up, her intelligent mind promised a good future. On special occasions in her life, she would see the sky turn pink, which gave her the strength and determination to work diligently and successfully towards her goals. She joined several sports clubs to stay fit, which helped build her strength and confidence.
“I must not be weak,” she told herself, “So I don’t suffer at the hands of any man and die like my mother.”

Her father did not play much of a role in her life, but every morning when she came down for breakfast, he would greet her, “How’s my princess?”
“Not good,” she answered in a dull voice.
The same question over the years, the same answer.
He was sitting now beside another beautiful woman, his new wife from four years ago, and a baby son added to the family.
Marissa knew she should have hated him for destroying their small family but she didn’t. All she could feel for him was pity for his weakness and arrogance. He couldn’t give her mother the love and care she deserved yet he refused to let her go.

“What would you like for breakfast?” her stepmother asked.
Marissa drank a glass of juice and said politely, “Nothing, thanks.”
“You need to eat proper meals, Marissa,” her father stated firmly, “To be a healthy young woman.”
“You don’t have to worry about me,” she said icily and turned to leave but his next words stopped her.
“Is she still talking to you?”

Marissa turned and looked at him in disbelief.
“You actually believed that?”
“I don’t know, because you don’t talk to me.”
“And you deserve that for taking away the most beautiful things in my life.”

She went out, slamming the door, leaving him with deep regrets on his face. She took a few deep breaths to regain her calm composure. She did not go home after school but stayed by her aunt and the next day, her father came for her. The tension was so deep that she did not speak a word to him on the way home.
That night he rapped on her door and asked, “Can I speak to you in the study?”
She came out of her room and went down to the study.
He was waiting, not quite his casual, carefree self anymore.

“I know,” he began, “that you must hate me, and I guess I deserve that. I want to say how sorry I am for all the pain and grief I must have caused you from a little girl.”
Marissa smiled wryly, “And I guess sorry can take away all the grief and repair what’s broken?”
“No, it can’t. But what else can I say? I can’t rewind the past to change what happened, but I can play a good role, as a father, to ensure you have a good future.”
“Thanks, but I don’t really need you.”
She turned to leave the room, and at the door, she turned and said with a smile, “She still talks to me.”