She jumped to her feet and began shouting, “Daddy’s coming home! Daddy’s coming home!”
For the next several days, she talked about nothing else.
She drew pictures for him, practiced what she wanted to say, and asked whether he would still know her favorite cereal. She decided that he needed a welcome sign, then rejected three versions before settling on one covered in crooked hearts, stars, and bright red letters.
“WELCOME HOME, DADDY.”
On the morning his unit was scheduled to arrive, Lily woke before sunrise.
“Is it time?” she asked from the doorway of my bedroom.
I looked at the clock.
“It’s barely 5 a.m.”
“Is that yes?”
I laughed for what felt like the first time in months.
“It’s a very early no.”
She refused to go back to sleep.
By the time we left for the airport, she was practically vibrating with excitement in her bright yellow dress. She held the handmade welcome sign against her chest and asked every few minutes whether we were almost there.
I was excited too, but beneath that excitement was a nervousness I could not explain.
Two years was a long time.
People changed.
Marcus had left as my husband, Lily’s father, and the man who always drank coffee too late at night. I wondered what would be left of that man after everything he had seen.
When we entered the military arrival terminal, families were already gathered around the barrier. Children sat on shoulders. Parents held flowers. Spouses checked the arrival board again and again.
Lily tugged on my hand.
“Will Daddy see my dress?”
“He’ll see you before he sees anything else.”
“Will he know me?”
The question stopped me.
I crouched beside her and held her shoulders.
“Of course he’ll know you.”
“But I got bigger.”
“He knows, sweetheart. I’ve told him all about you.”
She studied my face as though deciding whether I was telling the truth.
Then she lifted the sign.
“Do you think he’ll like this?”
“He’ll love it.”
The waiting stretched on.
Every announcement made the crowd shift.
Every movement near the double doors caused people to stand taller.
Then the military arrival gate opened.
A wave of uniform-clad soldiers walked through.
The terminal erupted.
People shouted names, cried out, and rushed forward. Lily climbed onto her toes, trying to see around the adults.
“Where is he?” she asked.
I scanned the crowd.
Then I spotted Marcus immediately.
He looked exhausted.
His face was thinner, his cheeks hollowed, and there were shadows beneath his eyes. His hair was shorter than I remembered, and he carried a heavy olive-green duffel bag over one shoulder.
But it was him.
My husband.
My breath left me.
“There,” I whispered. “Lily, there he is.”
Marcus saw us at the same moment.
His entire face changed.
The exhaustion vanished beneath an expression so raw that I felt my chest tighten. He dropped his heavy olive-green duffel bag onto the floor, opened his arms wide, and cried out Lily’s name.
“Lily!”
Her welcome sign slipped from her fingers.
