I had imagined running into his arms.
Instead, I stood beside the door.
“Jeremy.”
He looked down.
“I’m sorry.”
Those words.
Again.
“How long?”
“Six weeks.”
Six weeks of phone calls.
Six weeks of him asking about bottles, naps, first smiles.
Six weeks of me telling him we needed him.
“You lied.”
“I didn’t want you worrying.”
“Do you know what happened at the airport?”
“Daniel told me.”
“No. You don’t understand.”
My voice shook.
“When that soldier touched my shoulder, I thought you were dead.”
Jeremy raised his eyes.
“I thought I’d have to tell our daughters about you instead of introducing them to you.”
He started crying.
“I’m sorry.”
“Stop.”
He went still.
“I don’t need another apology.”
I pointed toward the stroller.
“I need their father.”
“I wanted to walk through those doors.”
“I know.”
“I wanted to pick them up. Both of them.”
