Her coffee cup slipped right out of her hand and smashed into a thousand pieces on the kitchen floor…
He was standing in front of her. He wasn't supposed to be home yet. She hadn't heard of him in a month. She hadn't heard from him in three months. She hadn't heard his voice in four months. She hadn't seen in in a year. She hadn't held him in two years. But there he was, and she didn't care why. She flung her arms around him, and he dropped the duffel bag, lifting her off her feet. She buried her neck in his shoulder and started bawling. She had almost forgotten what he smelled like, how he held his head, and what his laugh sounded like. But she heard it, noticed it, and smelled it. Then she stepped back to take him all in, and noticed the bandage wrapped around his head, the crutches forgotten on the floor, and the brace on his knee. She knew he had been in a war zone and she had thought it had already sunk in, but it was a reality now. He had brought the war home with him, and she would make sure that the weariness he had brought home was quickly forgotten. Everything would be the same as before he left, and they would be the same. They would have their picnics, eat their sugar cookies, and laugh at the frosting on each other's nose. He would be exactly the same as before he left, she would make sure of it.
I'm on a roll. Please excuse me. I will get back to work on my other stories now that I've finish my ginormous project. I just needed to get back into the swing of things.