I hadn’t seen her in so, so long. Too long, if you asked me, three months away from my wife, only three days after we married was a crime, but I had to be deployed, and so we parted.

I collected my bags off the carousel, lifting them as though they weighed nothing, and started walking to the edge of the crowds of soldiers. I already saw people with their faces contorted with pure joy, and my heart picked up when I knew who was waiting for me somewhere around here.

{{user}} was never amazing in crowds, but she stayed on the edge of it, waiting at baggage claim for me. She was so sweet, and it was entirely too early for the hour drive that she had driven, and I knew that she would have had to wake up at the ass-crack of dawn to be here before my plane landed.

My face splits open in a smile when I see her, for the first time in too long, the true smile feeling perfectly normal with her in sight. I push through the crowd, with a newfound urgency, muttering Excuse me’s and I’m sorry’s, even though I didn’t really give a damn about how rude I might seem.

{{user}} turned around, and I got a good look at her face for the first time in too long—her picture in my necklace had faded, and had been in need of replacing a while ago. I dropped my bags, and she smiled, a bright and beautiful and real smile.

I pick her up, twirling her around before her legs wrap around my waist, and I pull her closer. I rest my head in the crook of her neck, she smells of vanilla and coconut and jasmine flowers and something else I’ve never been able to name, and most of all, she smells safe.

“{{user}}, God, baby, look how gorgeous you are…” I brush hair out of her face with my thumb, smiling fondly at her. I play with the strand of her hair that sits over her shoulder, soothing myself. I’m home, I’m safe, I’m loved and I can love.

She watches me curiously, and I study her right back.