A window into chapter X

He shifted uncomfortably in his chair as the pastor wound up his sermon. It had been a long day already. He and children left the house ten minutes before the start of church. He had waited, knowing that she wasn't going to arrive before they left. Not after the argument they had the prior evening, and the distant looks betraying an unmistakable anger that he could no longer identify with. When she left the house to go to her friend's, it had a feeling of permanence that felt like a spear through his spirit.

Nevertheless, he awoke, fed and dressed the children, and came to church. He knew the name of the demon plaguing him for the last decade, finally. He wasn't afraid to say it out loud and call him out. He had done that earlier in the service, and now felt as if a great weight was released from his soul. It didn't make it any easier to listen to the sermon, which seemed to be an encyclopedic litany of the many ways he had failed, as husband, father, and man, but at the same time, he realized that knowing was half the battle, and he could do things correctly moving forward.

He heard the buzzing of his phone in the bag before him, which had been set to vibrate. He leaned forward and seruptiously opened the new text message. It was from her. Three simple words. "I am home."

He quietly shut the phone, and put it back into his bag. He couldn't help wondering who would be greeting them when they came home. The wife and mother, or the woman who acted like an angry stranger. He pondered this as he rose, and bowed his head for the closing prayer.

His phone buzzed against his side as they pulled into the driveway. The kids, seeing the other car in the driveway, couldn't wait to get out of the car, run through the garage, and bound up the steps and into the house. When he was half way up the first flight of stairs, he could feel that something was different. He could hear her, hugging the children, and talking to them about their morning. As he turned on the landing, he looked up, to find her looking down at him. He was surprised to find that it was a soft look, as if colored by affection not displayed in some time. When he reached the top of the stairs, she stepped forward, into his arms, and hugged him tightly. He looked down, she reached up, and before he could say anything, her lips pressed hard against his, as she cradled the back of his head in her hand, her fingers running through his short, bristle-like hair. When it was done, they both drew back, and regarded each other. She said, in a quiet voice, "I want to come home."