Margaret left home years ago, believing it would always be there when she returned.

At 78, she finally came back—only to find her small house replaced by a grand mansion with locked doors. Her children had drifted away: her daughter across the country, her son, David, lost in his own life. She settled into a nursing home, the old house fading into memory.

Then, one day, David appeared. “I’m sorry, Mom,” he said, bringing daisies—her favorite. Slowly, they reconnected.

But Margaret longed to see the house. When David refused, she went alone.

She arrived to find the mansion standing where her home had been. Desperate, she knocked—only for David to open the door.

“I rebuilt it for you,” he said softly.

Margaret looked at the garden, the foundation, the familiar steps.

“You did this for me?”

David nodded.

Margaret exhaled. “Then let’s go inside.”