That night, when you held onto me so tightly, I felt the wind weaving through your hair, soft and wild like the moment itself. Your arms clung to me like I was your last lifeline, and as my fingers threaded gently through those silk strands, I whispered to you quiet, careful my voice barely rising above the breeze. But inside, I could feel the weight of your tears, the way they burned in your eyes, matching the sting I tried to hide in my chest. I didn’t want to walk away… not really. But I had to. And as I took that first step back, your eyes shut like you were begging time to stop like if you wished hard enough, I’d still be there when you opened them. But I wasn’t. I could feel your warmth slipping from my hands, and with it, my resolve. The cold filled in the spaces where you used to be, and I knew then… I was already gone. Now, standing at the edge of your porch, the sound of crickets echoing around us like a steady drum to my heartbeat, I see you. The sun’s faded hum rests over the grass, and my eyes tired, worn find yours again. Brown, warm, and full of something I lost too long ago. And then I see him. In your arms, the child… our child. His milky brown eyes lock with mine, a mirror of yours the ones I fell for the moment we met. He reaches out, those tiny fingers stretching toward me like you once did, and something inside me cracks open. I step forward. One step. Desperate. Shaking. And then I’m there my arms around you both, holding you like the answer to a prayer I never said out loud. My hands calloused, steady wrap around everything I thought I’d lost. And as our eyes meet again, as his little head rests against my chest, I finally understand.

I’m home.