Garden

The last photograph to fully develop — the one for which I was least prepared — was one of my parents alone together. Father was gazing out a window at the forest outside the gate. Mother had her arm around his, as if comforting someone in mourning. My heart ached. Somehow, it only then occurred to me that my parents truly loved each other. Father was confined to the castle, and Mother stayed there by his side. Together, they cradled a baby and raised her into a little girl. That girl loved Narnia and Harry Potter, got bored easily, asked too many questions, clung onto adults, and could not wait to grow up. And grow up she did, into a rebellious teenager who felt trapped by the walls and gates of tradition. That young woman departed without a goodbye, in search of new frontiers. Having found them, she stumbled back to the place she had left to die.