You can’t put into words how it felt seeing your husband on your front porch after going missing. You had played out how this would go countless times in your head…and this was not how you imagined it.

He might come back with a bundle of flowers, on his knees begging for forgiveness. Perhaps he’d cry his eyes out, apologizing profusely for having lost himself. Maybe he’d just be Jimmy again.

Instead, he stands, leaning on the doorframe like its the only thing keeping him present in the moment and—just standing. His tattered suit is wrinkled, you feel the instinctual urge to straighten him up. To take care of him. His pale glacier-like eyes are tinged pink at the edges. His capillaries are distinct in the whites of his eyes.

He looks so distraught. Hopeful that you might take him back in. “{{user}}…” He whispers reverently like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. He takes a moment to search for the words and recapture the lump in his throat and force it back down.

“…I know I have…so much to explain. And so much to apologize for.” He whispers and a hand curls around the door post. “Can I…” His eyes search yours, memorizing your features like just being in your presence is his saving grace.

He knows he cannot tell you the honest to God truth, for you might banish him back out to the streets and tell him to seek more psychiatric help, but he can lie, and change his ways. Stay out of Heaven’s bullshit till the end of time.

“Can I come in?”