Joy
She wasn't quite sure what she'd expected to see in his eyes when she returned. Disbelief? Anger? Surprise? They were there for sure. So were guilt and sorrow. Even lust.
But she hadn't been prepared for joy.
Joy meant he'd missed her. Joy meant he'd been afraid she wouldn't return, and that would have created a hole in his life. Joy meant he wanted her back, that he wasn't angry with her for being a screw-up.
Joy meant he cared.
And that ... that meant more to her than all the words in the world. Apologies weren't necessary, neither was forgiveness. Those three words that most people wanted to hear and that he'd said and taken back, didn't matter. Mouths could lie and hearts could pretend. But the joy in his eyes was something that spoke louder than all the words he said and couldn't say.
He cared for her, and if that wasn't cause for rejoicing she didn't know what was.