Nine hours before I expected him home.
“I miss you,” he said. “I can’t wait to meet my little girls.”
Then he laughed.
“Although apparently they’re not little anymore.”
And then came the apology.
“I’m sorry I missed their birth.”
“Jeremy, stop.”
“I should’ve been there.”
“You’re coming home. That’s what matters.”
He promised to call after his connection.
A little later, he sent a video of himself walking toward the plane.
I watched it three times.
He looked tired.
But he was smiling.
I’d barely slept the night before.
Both girls wore matching outfits his mother had mailed.
Across their tiny chests, pink glitter letters spelled out, “DADDY’S HOME.”
I tied three balloons to their stroller.
One for each of us waiting.
At the airport, I tracked his final connecting flight on my phone.
The little airplane crossed the screen.
Then the board changed.
