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Tamara heard the knock on the door but remained motionless. "How dare she come here!" she thought. The odor of burning milk jolted her into action and she rushed to the kitchen where she turned off the burner and removed the blackened pot. The knocking became more insistent. "I won't answer it!" she told herself. "I'll pretend no one is here!" She immediately dismissed that idea, knowing that sooner or later she would have to confront the person on the other side of her door.

As she went to open the door, she realized just how unsettling this confrontation was to her. Her legs were shaky and she could hear the thumping of her heart in the stillness of the room. Taking a deep breath, Tamara opened the door and said, "Hello Mother." She then stepped aside as her mother entered, placing her suitcase on the living room floor. Mrs. Symonds removed her coat and turned to look at her daughter. She was shocked at her appearance. She had lost weight and dark circles like bruises stood out against the dullness of her eyes. "Oh Tamara," she exclaimed. "Are you ill?"

Tamara returned her mother's stare. She observed the clear eyes and unslurred speech and knew that her mother was sober. "I must make note of this" she thought maliciously. "I may not see it again!" Ignoring her mother's inquiry as to the state of her health, Tamara asked, "Why are you here, mother? How long do you intend to stay?" Silently she added, 'Not long if I can help it! You'll be out of here by morning and back where you came from because I don't need this added burden!' Despite the harshness of her thoughts, she wondered how it would feel to have her mother's arms around her. To feel love for this woman who gave her life. To be able to confide and receive solace in return. Giving herself a mental shake to clear her mind of such foolish wishful thinking, Tamara awaited her mother's answer.

Mrs. Symonds heard the bitterness in her daughter's voice. She didn't blame her for her disrespect. She had never been a mother to her, preferring the bottle over the needs of her child. Yet despite her neglect, Tamara had grown into a fine young woman, working her way through college and starting a new life for herself. She recalled how relieved she had been to see Tamara leave. She no longer had to listen to her accusations nor see the hurt in her eyes. Guilt weighed heavily on her now. 'Will I be given a second chance?' she wondered. 'A chance to make amends for the wrong I've done my child.'

Tension filled the room as Tamara waited for a reply to her questions. Her hands were clasped together to still her shaking. She could feel a scream mounting from somewhere deep inside her. She hurried to the kitchen where she filled the kettle and took cups out of the cupboard. As she stood, waiting for the water to boil, she felt a hand touch her shoulder. Although she tried not to, she was unable to keep from recoiling. Her mother quickly removed her hand and sat down at the table. A deep sadness filled her. 'We're strangers,' she thought.

"I'll leave now, Tamara, if you want me to," her mother said, "but before I go I want to tell you why I'm here. Would you allow me to do that?" Tamara placed the cups on the table and sat down across from her mother. "Go ahead, mother. Tell me why you're here."

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