“Your mother is gone. Tears won’t bring her back—so wipe your face, make dinner, and don’t look like a grieving child when my guests arrive.” That was what my husband said.

That night, with the sound of rain hitting the roof, I felt truly alone, but not helpless. I felt free. This house was my mother’s and mine again. One month had passed since that stormy night. Time had flown, bringing drastic changes to my life. This morning, the sun streamed brightly through my bedroom curtains, greeting a new day with a different kind of warmth. There were no more of Mark’s shouts rushing me to make breakfast. There was no more fear of saying or doing the wrong thing. The large house my mother had left me now felt silent and peaceful. I woke up with a light heart, said my morning prayers, and prayed for my mother’s soul to rest in peace.