Her sobs wrack her body and she is shouting again. She's angry. Understandable.
She reaches for a glass on the table beside her and throws it. It hits the wall and shatters. Tiny shards fall to the floor with a tinkling sound.
She screams at you. You stand and take it without complaint, waiting for her to stop.
You've missed her.
She's missed you.
You don't try to console her, pat her back or stop her tears. After everything, you think she deserves to let them fall.
She's acted strong for far too long.
Her knees give out and she falls to the floor, head in her hands, still yelling. You sit in front of her, close enough to touch but you keep your hands to yourself. You wait.
Her tear-stained face tilts up and her eyes are full of hatred. She throws herself at you and her tiny fists beat against your chest.
It doesn't hurt.
Not physically.
Your tired hands wrap around her wrists and halt the swing of her arms. She glances up and lets your eyes meet. Her mouth is shut, one red lip angrily held between her teeth.
Without warning she throws herself at you and her arms encircle your neck, holding you in place. You do not resist. You return the embrace, arms around her shoulders, clutching her to you like she might float away if you let go.
Or you might sink.
You take in the smell of her—something you've missed—and rub your face on her skin, whispering softly. She's still crying, dirtying your filthy shirt further. You don't care.
"I've missed you," she says, her voice muffled by your shoulder. You nod.
"I've missed you too." You pull away and look into her eyes.
She leans forward.
Your lips meet.