Mara returned to the harbor with one suitcase and no plan to stay. For years, she had told herself that home was a place a person could outgrow. Yet the salt in the evening air still felt like a familiar voice.
At the bend in the coastal path, the lighthouse came into view. Its golden beam swept across the darkening water, just as it had when she was small. Mara stopped. Someone had kept the light on.
Beyond the gate, her father was sitting on the front step with two cups of tea. He did not ask why she had stayed away so long. He simply moved over and made room beside him.
“I thought you might find your way back,” he said. Mara set down her suitcase. Below them, the tide rolled gently over the rocks, and the lighthouse began another slow turn. For the first time in years, she did not wonder where she would go next.