The first storm after her mother’s death came suddenly, like the sky itself couldn’t contain the grief any longer. Dark clouds rolled over Hollow Creek, smudging the edges of the afternoon sun until the world looked bruised. The wind tugged at the curtains and rattled the old cedar tree in their new backyard, shaking loose memories Elara wasn’t ready to face.
Elara sat on the steps of the porch, knees drawn to her chest, staring at the darkening sky. Her father moved quietly inside, the scrape of his shoes across the wooden floor faint but constant. She could hear him—trying to be calm, trying to hold the house together—but even he couldn’t cover the tension that hummed in the air.
A flash of lightning split the sky, and the distant clap of thunder reverberated through her chest. She flinched, wrapping her arms tighter around herself. The storm wasn’t just outside; it was inside her, echoing the chaos she felt every time she thought of her mother.
“Elara,” her father’s voice called softly through the open door. “Please come inside. You’ll catch a cold.”
“I’m fine,” she muttered, barely audible over the first drops of rain.
Samuel James stepped onto the porch, hesitant, as if approaching her grief directly might break him. “You’ve been out here a long time. It’s not safe…”
“I don’t care,” she snapped. Her voice sounded strange even to her own ears—sharp, brittle. She pressed her face against her knees, trying to make herself small, invisible.
Her father sighed, the sound low and weary. “I’m trying, Elara. I’m really trying, but I don’t know how to fix this for you.”
Her throat tightened, the words she wanted to scream trapped inside her. “Nothing can fix it,” she whispered. The rain had begun to fall heavier now, drumming against the roof and washing over the porch steps. “You can’t fix it. No one can.”
Samuel hesitated, then lowered himself to sit beside her on the edge of the porch, though he left a careful distance. “I know,” he said quietly. “I can’t. But maybe… maybe I can be here with you while you figure it out.”
She didn’t look at him. She couldn’t. The tears slipped past the edge of her lashes, warm and unwanted. “I don’t even know who I am anymore,” she admitted. “I thought… I thought faith would carry me through. I thought she would be here. And now… now she’s gone, and I—” Her voice broke, the storm outside swelling as if echoing her grief.
“You’re allowed to feel this,” her father said softly. “And you don’t have to be okay yet. We’ll figure it out… together.”
She let herself cry then, the sound raw and unrestrained, the first real release since the funeral. Her father reached out, finally, and placed a tentative hand on her shoulder. She didn’t move away this time. Not fully. But the storm inside her had only begun.
Lightning cracked across the sky again, closer this time, and a strong gust whipped through the yard. The cedar tree groaned, its branches scraping against the house. Elara buried her face in her knees, feeling the wind whip at her hair, letting the rain wash over her. She hated the world and everything in it, hated the God she no longer believed in, and hated herself for being so helpless.
Minutes passed—or hours. Time had lost meaning in the storm and in her grief. Her father stayed beside her, silent except for the occasional murmured encouragement.
When the rain began to soften into a drizzle, Elara finally lifted her head. The sky was still gray, still heavy with clouds, but the storm had passed over, leaving a cool, damp stillness. She noticed how the wet leaves glistened in the faint light, how the air smelled of earth and something strangely clean.
“Come inside,” her father said again, softly. “We need to warm up. We need… something.”
She nodded slowly, letting him guide her back into the house. Inside, the familiar smell of cedar and dust met her, mixed with the faint memory of her mother. She shivered, wrapping herself in an old blanket her father handed her, and sat in silence, letting the house hold them both.
Elara stared at the window, watching the storm’s remnants shimmer on the cedar tree outside. For the first time in days, she felt a tiny pulse of something she hadn’t felt since her mother died—a flicker of resilience.
Maybe, just maybe, the storm outside could teach her how to survive the one raging inside.
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✨ "When the Light Returns" ✨
Spiritual🌙 PROLOGUE At 17 years old, Elara James believed God lived in the space between her heartbeat and her breath. She felt Him when her mother hummed hymns in the kitchen, when sunlight broke through storm clouds, and when she whispered bedtime prayers...
