Two were by the door when I came in. The house was uncharacteristically quiet. I assumed it was the end. I knew it was the end. Frankly, I was scared to get in.
He was by the fireplace, looking at the huge painting on the wall. He heaved a sigh. I could not tell if he was aware of my arrival.
Looking at him from where I was, I started to feel tears coming out my eyes. After years of silent nights, hisses, and blatant shouting, we finally reached the end. I wanted to run to him and hold him. I wanted to tell him how much he means to me--he did and still do.
But I could not. I just knew I could not.
He turned around and saw me. He looked like he wanted to cry as much as I do. But I knew he would not. Instead, he crossed the distance between us and hugged me tightly. I hugged him back, trying to tell him everything I could not with that gesture.
Then we pulled apart. And he started walking to the door.
He picked up his suitcases and, with a last longing look at me, he left.
Photo by: John Perivolaris
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