“My baby,” she whispered.
Then she started crying.
“You’re home.”
I held her.
But I couldn’t stop staring at her.
Her knees.
Her hands.
Her clothes.
Her thinner frame.
This wasn’t the woman I had pictured coming home to.
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“My baby,” she whispered.
Then she started crying.
“You’re home.”
I held her.
But I couldn’t stop staring at her.
Her knees.
Her hands.
Her clothes.
Her thinner frame.
This wasn’t the woman I had pictured coming home to.
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