It was late at night in New York. It was just another normal Wednesday, she had woken up, fed the cat, gone to work and then returned home to an empty apartment. She had dinner in silence and then began to read.
As she was turning the pages on the couch, a key entered the lock on her front door. Kimberly's breath was short, as she stared at the piece of wood and braced herself for the best, or for the worse.
As it opens, it reveals the tired body of her husband, arriving home at last.
Damien was home.
His name bubbled in Kimberly's throat, rising, rising as a wailing scream, but all she could manage to push out was a choked whimper as she flung herself towards Damien.
He was home. He was safe.
Damien dropped his bag and keys quickly, and practically lifted her from the ground when they collided, mumbling, "Kimberly, oh God, my Kimberly. Dios bendicto, love, I missed you so, so much..."
Tears sprang to her eyes, the world growing fuzzy as all of her fears melted away down her cheeks. The world seemed to turn faster and faster, and she could not see their living room around them anymore.
She was relieved, as if the world had been lifted from her shoulders. Here he was, in the flesh, instead of a hushed telephone call or Skype conference on some hotel around the world, of the cryptic messages and classified information.
He was there in their home with her, where she could see and feel his presence, where he could hold her up as her knees collapsed in relief.
Happy, and healthy, and home.
After months undercover with his Interpol team, Damien was home. Her wait was finally over. All the days filled with anxiety were gone. All the sleepless nights were done.
"How...how are you?" Kimberly dragged herself away from Damien's embrace only to look him in the eyes. How she missed gazing into his loving honey-coloured eyes. "Are you tired? Hungry?"
Desperately, she searched his face for an ounce of worry or doubt. Anything that she could erase to make their reunion perfect. He seemed inexplicably and miraculously fine.
Of course, he was fine. He always lands on his feet, after all, and he promised me he would always come back. She reminded herself. It did not make it all any easier. Nothing would ever make it easier.
Damien's months abroad had turned her head into a bit of a mess. It was like everything was suspended in the air, and she could do nothing but cling to the news helplessly, after some kind of sign on the news, even if she did not know even which country he was staying.
The woman knew her husband could disappear from her life at any moment. Raid after raid, everything was so uncertain. Sometimes, she purposefully avoided the papers and just trashed anything that came on the mail, because she could not gather the courage to face the fact that, one day, Damien might come home in a box.
Flashbacks to when he told her that he wanted to take on Alana's offer and return to the Interpol, of their parting before he left for his deployment God knows where, of him calling her, as close to tears as she ever seen him, to break the news that his partner, their friend, had gone missing in action in their last mission.
All those scenes danced through her mind at night, grating on her dark eyelids and robbing her of rest.
Kimberly knew that was part of her life as Mrs. Nazario when she married Damien, she knew all he wanted was to build a safer world for them to live in. As much as she appreciated the feeling and admired the dedication, though, it did not make her bearing of stress and worry any easier.
However, the woman could not lay around all day filling her head with increasingly wild concerns, or else she would go insane. Life had to go on. It would always go on, one way or another.
So, she said goodbye to Damien's wedding picture on her way to work every morning, and while he was off fighting crime and corruption in distant and unknown lands, she sat at her desk at her job, promoting beauty and joy in the world with curating and conservation of pieces from the Metropolitan Museum of Art, and waited patiently for him to come home.
Home.
The days dragged them by, and finally, here they were, back on solid ground, back at home in each other's arms. It was unbelievable. So surreal and fantastic that Kimberly felt her mind go dizzy. Tears were copiously streaming down her face now. She swiped at them with the heel of her palm, trying to get a hold of herself.
"Come on, let's get inside." Damien urged, hoisting his bag over one arm and wrapping the other around her.
As she wrapped her arm loosely around his waist, he ducked to plant a kiss to her temple. She sighed contentedly.
"Do you want to eat?" Kimberly asked, suddenly hit with the desire to be useful and welcoming. "I can whip up some dinner for you. I can even make you that lasagne you like so much."
Damien shook his head. "Thanks, but I already ate, love. They gave us food at 33 Thomas Street after our debriefing. I just want to shower and go to bed."
Kimberly nodded. "Perfect, we can do that. I'll pull out your pyjamas from the closet."
"Shower with me?" Damien asked, looking at her pleadingly. "I don't want to be apart from you right now."
The look in his eyes made it clear that he wanted nothing more than to be naked with her in the shower.
Kimberly let out a content sigh. " Lead the way, honey."
They spent the night showing each other how grateful they were that he was home.