The morning sun filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow across my room. I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, the remnants of last night's dream still haunting my thoughts. It had been ten years since Amelia disappeared, but the nightmares never ceased. Each night, I was dragged back to that lakeside, reliving the fear and confusion over and over again.

I sighed and sat up, pushing the tangled sheets away. The smell of coffee wafted from the kitchen, and I knew my parents were already up. My relationship with them had never been the same since that fateful night. Especially with Mom.

As I dressed, I thought about what Detective Harris had said. Returning to the lake house was something I dreaded, but maybe it was time to face the past head-on. I needed to understand what happened that night, not just for Amelia's sake, but for my own. My art gallery had been a sanctuary for me, a place where I could lose myself in my work and escape the shadows of my past. But lately, even my art couldn't quiet the memories.

Downstairs, I found my parents at the kitchen table, the tension between them palpable. Dad was reading the newspaper, his face lined with worry. Mom was stirring her coffee absently, her eyes distant and haunted.

Our home had once been a cozy haven, filled with warmth and laughter. The living room, where they sat, was a testament to better times. The walls were adorned with pictures of us, capturing moments of joy and togetherness. A large, framed family photo hung prominently above the fireplace, a reminder of what once was - Mom and Dad smiling brightly, Amelia and I nestled between them, our identical faces beaming with happiness.

But the smaller, more personal photos were gone. After Amelia's disappearance, Mom had gathered all her pictures and stored them in her bedroom. The living room felt emptier now, the absence of Amelia's presence a silent, painful void. Only the large family portrait remained, a bittersweet relic of our unity.

The furniture was well-worn and comfortable, the kind that invited you to sink in and relax. A soft, floral-patterned sofa faced the fireplace, flanked by matching armchairs. The coffee table in the center held a stack of old magazines and a vase of fresh flowers - Mom's attempt to maintain a semblance of normalcy.

I poured myself a cup of coffee and sat down at the kitchen table, the silence heavy around us. The kitchen was small but cozy, with wooden cabinets and a tiled backsplash. The scent of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the aroma of toast and eggs, a comforting reminder of simpler times.

After a few minutes, Dad cleared his throat. "Any plans for today, Amanda?"

I shrugged. "Just the usual. I'll be at the gallery, working on some new pieces."

Dad nodded, but I could see the unspoken question in his eyes. He wanted to ask about the dreams, about Amelia, but he never did. It was an unspoken rule in our house - don't bring up the past unless absolutely necessary.

Mom, on the other hand, had no such reservations. "You know, Amanda," she began, her voice tight, "it might help if you talked to someone about... everything. A therapist, maybe."

I bristled at her suggestion. "I'm fine, Mom."

She sighed, setting her cup down. "I just think it could help. You've been having these nightmares for years. It's not healthy to keep it all bottled up."

"I said I'm fine," I repeated, more forcefully this time. The truth was, I had talked to therapists before, but nothing seemed to help. The only thing that might bring me peace was finding out what really happened to Amelia.

Dad shot Mom a warning glance. "Let's not push, okay? Amanda will talk when she's ready."

Mom opened her mouth to argue but then closed it, frustration etched on her face. She believed I was hiding something, that I wasn't telling the whole truth about that night. And in a way, she was right. I couldn't remember everything, and that unknown figure haunted me as much as it haunted her.

After breakfast, I grabbed my bag and headed out. My art gallery was a welcome escape from the tension at home. The smell of paint and the quiet atmosphere were comforting, and my assistant, Claire, was always kind and understanding.

"Good morning, Amanda," she greeted me as I walked in.

"Morning, Claire," I replied, giving her a small smile.

The day passed slowly, my mind wandering back to the lake house and the shadowy figure. During my lunch break, I found myself sketching scenes from my dreams, hoping to find some insight into my own mystery.

The bell above the door jingled, and I looked up to see a familiar face. Detective Harris walked in, his expression serious. My heart skipped a beat as he approached me.

"Amanda," he said, "do you have a minute?"

I nodded, my pulse quickening. We moved to a quiet corner of the gallery. "What's going on?" I asked.

"I've been thinking about what you said, about the figure in your dreams," he began. "I believe it could be important. I know you're hesitant, but I think you should come back to the lake house. Maybe seeing it again will help jog your memory."

I swallowed hard, the thought of returning to that place filling me with dread. But I knew he was right. "Okay," I said finally. "I'll go."

That evening, back at home, I packed a small bag. Mom watched me from the doorway, her expression unreadable.

"Where are you going?" she asked.

"To the lake house," I replied. "Detective Harris thinks it might help me remember."

Mom's eyes widened. "Amanda, are you sure about this?"

"I have to do this, Mom," I said, meeting her gaze. "I need to know what happened."

She nodded slowly, her eyes softening. "Be careful, sweetheart. And... if you need to talk, I'm here."

I gave her a brief hug, then headed out. The drive to the lake house was filled with a mix of anticipation and fear. The memories of that night, the dream, and the shadowy figure all swirled in my mind.

As I pulled up to the familiar, yet hauntingly quiet lakeside property, I couldn't shake the feeling that something significant was waiting for me there, something that might finally bring closure to the mysteries that had haunted me for so long.