A house on the hill. Blue shutters with a wrap around porch—just how you’d wanted it. A house John Brady hadn’t stepped foot in for years.

He hauls his sack over his shoulder, dressed in his finest uniform. He hadn’t seen you in Lord knows how long—there was a lingering fear you wouldn’t even be there. Would you have waited—even after these years? Still, he knocked at the door to his own home.

He hears the shuffle, and his heart threatens to leap from his chest. Then, he sees you.