She would return home when the days dragged on long enough that by the time they were over it was too late for her to leave.
Her mother would complain, but secretly she loved it. She would have held the sun in place in the sky if it meant she didn’t have to say goodbye. She made hot chocolate that they would drink on the veranda, and her daughter would say that she missed the old days.
“You could always come back,” her mother would say.
“I know,” she would say.