text: After opening the door to the camper van, Dawn pops the deckchair out before retreating back inside to grab a blanket and her coffee. The distant crowing rouses the sun, sending out its reminder that it’s time to throw the covers off and stir. Wrapped up, her gaze drifts and she watches as the reddish-orange haze begins its ascent above the horizon and notices the aroma of citrus wafting across the field. The green grass glistens when the light rays catch the blades and, after days of continual rain, it is a welcome sight. Although the summer evokes difficult memories, moments like these need to be cherished, so she sits steadfast and takes it in. “Good morning,” she says to the birds, as they compete for the best solo artist award and some attention. At least there are advantages to insomnia. Of course, this serenity delays the inevitable and when the knots resurface, another trek to the toilet block is necessary. Dawn’s appetite is non-existent, so she pours more coffee, ignoring the fact that the smell is making her nauseous. A drawback to rising early is having hours to ponder about the day’s events and she has a lot to dwell on today. Although five years have passed, the day she fled is still vivid, ingrained as an evil reminder of her selfishness. Unable to maintain the charade any longer, she never relented, not even to appease the hysterical cries of her children, as she dragged the suitcase to the car and drove away. You see, ever since childhood, her hidden shadow has harassed her. It ground her down. With an awareness of the devastating impact that listening to it would incur, she endured married life until the continual battle became exhausting, and she realised that only by relenting to its wishes would she discover her true self and be free. Even as she stood at the altar speaking her vows, a nagging doubt nestled, but she ignored it. Why? Well, the hope that travelling down the path of normality - university, career, marriage, and children - might liberate the shadow, persuaded her that saying ‘I do’ was a great idea. If she focussed her energy on the ordinary, then the devil inside would relinquish its grip and return to hell, wouldn’t it? Summer was when the lighter, warmer nights left everyone cheerful and content. Except for that evening. Dawn remembers having to switch the living room lights on before sitting down. Coronation Street was on the television. Background noise to soak up the recriminations and dampen down the loud voices. The pitter-patter on the windows meant the volume was high, so she spoke loudly to be heard. “We need to talk... I need to talk.” Those inimitable words everyone dreads. Why didn’t her ex sense it? Would the shock have been as catastrophic? Who was she kidding? No straightforward way to break that sort of news exists. “I am doing this for my sanity,” she stated. “Your sanity? What about the kids?” came the reply. “I am living a lie and won’t do it, not anymore,” she asserted. “Then leave, but you inform the children and they can decide if they want contact with you.” She told them. They couldn’t come to terms with her decision, so she departed with a hope that one day fate would allow them to discover her whereabouts and give her the chance to make amends. Five years have passed, and Sophie has contacted asking to meet. As Dawn ended the call, a small gap inside her broken heart moulded itself closed, and her cheeks ached from the pleasure that hearing her voice brought. Now here, reality has hit. If anything goes wrong, then her only chance to build bridges will vanish. She has decided on her outfit and opted for a smart-casual, but comfortable look. Her dark blue knee-length dress adorned with yellow/orange butterfly images fits the bill, as it covers her cleavage. To be on show today is not suitable. Teaming it up with a pair of plain grey leggings and black boots will complement nicely. Size 10 feet means she has trouble getting high heels but, having never been able to walk elegantly in them anyway, she doesn’t mind too much. Accessories are a pale pink scarf and matching handbag and with her hair down and a light application of make-up to feel feminine, it should boost her confidence. A lot of her family and friends severed contact when the news broke, but she expected that and prepared herself beforehand, along with the requisite to move away. It would be easier to discover her real self surrounded by strangers. Those first few months were tough. To go from a big noisy house to the solitary confines of a bed-sit was brutal. The emptiness was... Well, it’s true when they say silence is deafening. She’d escaped from one prison only to find herself in another. Now she loves her own company and relishes the reflection before her, but that wasn’t immediate. A network of people assisted her. A charity organised some accommodation and helped her secure employment. In her old life, she taught maths at a secondary school. It was inappropriate to continue in that profession, so her new position is in retail. Most of her colleagues are understanding, but a minority of harsh critics exist and vent their opinions. The realisation that eradicating the narrow-minded views of some will never happen means she has developed a thick skin. As she strengthens, so do her survival skills. As well as Sophie, she has a son, Sam. Sophie was fourteen when she left, but Sam was only nine. It was a difficult enough situation for her to comprehend, so she knew her son would struggle. Throughout it all, her mum’s loyalty hasn’t wavered. She has provided her with snippets about the kid’s progression, even throwing the odd photo in too. Although that won’t compensate for physically being there, it was better than nothing. It irks that she doesn’t know how their personalities have developed. Has their anger towards her affected them? Is who they should have been and who they are down to the decision she made? These are questions she may never receive the answer to. With an hour until departure, she fills the time by finishing the photo album. It’s for Sophie (if she wants it), and she has filled it with images of her evolution. Her therapist’s advice was that picturing the before and after would be beneficial for her mental health. It has. She’s had a lot of therapy, had her head thoroughly examined and all decisions scrupulously questioned and dissected. But, if she is honest, regrets have never manifested. The rendezvous is at the local coffee shop and Dawn worries about walking past her daughter. The most recent photograph is from her sixteenth birthday and, although from only a few years ago, what if she cannot spot her? She knows Sophie will have trouble picking her out. The cloudless still skies make the walk to town extremely pleasant. The reflections of sunlight on the puddles beam brightly, but she has her umbrella just in case. She glances into the windows as she saunters by. Yes, she is happy with her outfit choice. Okay, let’s go. Let’s do this. As she approaches the coffee shop, a young lady stands outside. She has blonde hair and a unique prettiness about her. It’s Sophie. Dawn’s instinct has kicked in. A parent knows their child. She pauses and takes a deep breath. All her fears that this could end up as a disaster resurface. A need to visit the bathroom hits. Damn! Positive thinking. She must have positive thinking. She leans against the wall and tries to recall the calming exercise her therapist taught her... in, 2, 3, out, 2, 3... The booming in her chest recedes. Yes, she is ready. With head held high, Dawn crosses the road and, for some unexplained reason, she waves. She doesn’t know why... Of course she does... that gesture will let her daughter figure out it’s her. Sophie stares - probably contemplating who this mad person is - and steps forward, holding her hand above her eyes. Is she praying this lunatic is waving at someone else? No, a big, beaming, broad grin appears as Sophie’s arm moves level to her shoulder and hovers in the air. A good start. Dawn halts. She has given little thought to their greeting. In her head, they are already drinking coffee and chatting. Now face to face, she can’t figure out her next move. Will hugging be acceptable? The person there is definitely her daughter. The deep blue eyes, the dimple in her chin and the gap in her front teeth all belong to Sophie. “Hello,” she says. Sophie shuffles forward, smiles and extends her arms before proffering a kiss on each cheek. After standing back she replies “Hello Dad, good to see you”.