For nearly four years, Captain Daniel Mercer had imagined coming home.
He imagined the front door opening before he even reached it.
He imagined his wife running into his arms.
He imagined dropping his duffel bag somewhere in the hallway and forgetting it existed because nothing would matter except being home again.
During the worst nights overseas, that image had been enough to keep him going.
Home.
Rachel.
The small two-story house they had bought outside Columbus, Ohio, only eleven months before Daniel received the assignment that eventually kept him away far longer than either of them expected.
At first, the separation was supposed to last eight months.
Then came another deployment.
Then a reassignment.
Then training.
There were brief visits, canceled leave requests, missed flights, and stretches when Daniel and Rachel existed more through screens than in the same room.
They kept saying they could survive one more month.
One more assignment.
One more delay.
By the time Daniel finally stepped onto American soil permanently, almost four years had passed since home had truly felt like home.
His flight landed shortly after noon.
He refused Rachel’s offer to meet him at the airport because he wanted the last drive to himself.
He wanted time to look at familiar highways.
Gas stations.
Fast-food signs.
Neighborhoods that seemed impossibly ordinary after years of military bases and temporary quarters.
His hands actually shook when he turned onto Maple Ridge Drive.
The houses looked mostly unchanged.
Someone had painted the Wilson place blue.
The oak tree near the corner had grown enormous.
A basketball hoop now stood in the driveway two houses down.
Then Daniel saw number 118.
His house.
Rachel had placed a small American flag near the mailbox.
A handwritten sign on the porch read:
WELCOME HOME, DANIEL.
He laughed.
Then, without warning, his eyes filled.
He parked in the driveway and sat behind the wheel for almost thirty seconds.
Four years.
He was finally home.
Daniel climbed out wearing his camouflage uniform, tan boots hitting the pavement while he pulled his large green duffel bag from the back seat.
Before he reached the porch, the door flew open.
Rachel appeared.
For one second, Daniel barely recognized her.
Not because she looked different in any bad way.
Because she looked even more alive than the woman he had carried in his memory.
Her blonde hair was longer, falling over her shoulders in loose waves. She wore dark jeans and a fitted cream sweater, and her eyes were already wet with tears.
“Daniel!”
He dropped the bag.
Rachel ran straight into him.
Daniel wrapped both arms around her and lifted her from the ground.
She laughed through tears.
“You’re really here.”
“I’m here.”
“You’re actually here.”
“I told you this time was real.”
“You’ve told me that before.”
Daniel smiled.
“Fair.”
Rachel kissed him.
For a moment, the years disappeared.
Daniel buried his face against her hair and closed his eyes.
This was what he had waited for.
When they finally separated, Rachel wiped beneath her eyes.
“You look older.”
Daniel stared at her.
“That’s your first observation?”
“You do.”
“So do you.”
Rachel gasped theatrically.
“Get back in the car.”
He laughed.
Then he heard something inside the house.