There are no footsteps when she returns with a white towel. And she doesn't make any sound to show she's there. But he can feel her eyes on him, and he turns to face her.
He know he should have used the neighbors phone instead, that he shouldn't be in her house. He knows he doesn't belong anymore. But then, a part of him wonders if it's fate. If, after all these years, he was meant to be drawn back to where it all started. What are the chances that his car breaks down in front of her house?
Silence.
And she's staring at him, still. Yet, now it's not just because he's dripping all over her carpet. It's not exactly a look of anger either, or disgust. More, one of pity. He watches as she sighs and runs a hand through her graying hair, eyes still focused and boring right into him.
His eyes move to a photograph on the wall. A picture of a handsome young man with blond hair and deep blue eyes, wearing graduation robes. And there's a sudden sadness.
"You know, you would have been the best dad." She whispers, and he pulls his eyes from the photograph.
He realizes 'would have', is the best he can ever hope for.