The creak of the front gate echoed in the quiet neighborhood as Claire pushed it open, her heart pounding in her chest. The house stood just as she remembered, with its familiar white porch and faded blue shutters. For a moment, she hesitated, letting the memories flood back. Five years—it felt like a lifetime. She took a deep breath, stepped onto the porch, and knocked gently on the door.
After a few seconds, the door swung open, and there stood her mother, a look of surprise and joy lighting up her face. "Claire!" she gasped, pulling her daughter into a tight embrace. Claire closed her eyes, letting herself sink into the warmth of her mother's arms, the familiar scent of lavender and vanilla bringing a sense of comfort she hadn't felt in years.
Her father appeared in the doorway, his eyes widening with disbelief before he broke into a wide grin. "There's our Hollywood star," he said, his voice a mixture of pride and teasing warmth. Claire laughed, her cheeks flushing slightly. For all the fame and fans she had accumulated, nothing matched the feeling of coming home.
They guided her inside, and she was instantly enveloped by the cozy familiarity of the house. Her eyes swept over the small details—the family photos lining the walls, the worn leather couch, and the little mementos scattered around that spoke of a life spent together.
Her mother bustled into the kitchen, calling back, "You must be starving! I'll make your favorite." Claire smiled as she took a seat at the old dining table, her fingers trailing over the carved initials on its edge—her initials from a time when her biggest dream was to act in the local theater.
As her mother moved around the kitchen, preparing the meal, her father joined Claire at the table. "It's good to have you back," he said softly, his gaze filled with affection and a touch of worry. "We've missed you."
"I missed you too," Claire replied, feeling the tightness in her throat. The life she had built felt so far away here, like it belonged to someone else. Here, she wasn't the star she had become; she was just Claire, their daughter.
Soon, her mother returned with a steaming plate of homemade pasta, her favorite dish. They ate together, laughter filling the room as they swapped stories and shared memories. Her parents listened to her tales of life on set, their pride shining through every word, but Claire could see the subtle questions in their eyes—the ones that asked if she was truly happy, if this was the life she had wanted.
As the night wore on, Claire looked around, feeling the warmth of her parents' presence. She realized that no matter how far she traveled, this place would always be home.