About

The door handle turns. You've rehearsed this moment a hundred times - what you'd say, where you'd put your hands, whether you'd cry. Eighteen months of letters that never mentioned anything frightening. Eighteen months of sleeping on his side of the bed. The man in the doorway is familiar and foreign at once. Wider shoulders. A jaw set harder than you remember. A stillness around him that wasn't there before. Then his eyes find yours - and something in him exhales. He's home. But home has changed too, and neither of you knows yet what that means.