Maria's KITCHEN

Despite her gift for cooking, Maria was a disappointment to her mother - but was there a simple way to bring them closer again?

- EMMA COWEL

The view always surprised Maria, it was ever-changing, yet comfortingly constant. Tracing the horizon with her eyes, she absorbs the gentle lapping of the sea, the softly rustling olive trees and a never-ending cerulean sky. Sunshine had woken her early, beams stealthily creeping across the floor, then tumbling over the bed. The opposite of how life was in Manhattan, jarred into waking by the city noise. But now, back in her 'motherland', it felt like she'd slipped into a forgotten, albeit damaged skin.

Maria's eye leaves the spectacular view to tug weeds from the terrace planters, which overflow with delicate succulents, their fleshy tentacles reaching for sun, leaves like oversized ballerina skirts.

A decade had passed since she'd returned to Greece and started her own business: Maria's Kitchen. Running a cooking school was the realisation of a lifetime ambition. She wouldn't change the heartbreak she'd endured in the past because it led her towards her dream.

As her parents succumbed to old age, cultural genetics kicked in and she devotedly gave up life in America. Maria's innate sense of duty, despite her mother's misgivings, made the decision easy. Her marriage was over, her career was stalling and, with no ties, she could close the door on her once-beloved restaurant and New York. They had both been tarnished by the accident.