Hudson

The war was finally over, and my heart raced as I hurried to see my wife. Two years ago, I had held her hands and sworn I would return to her—and now I was keeping that promise.

Yet, as the taxi sped through the streets, fear quietly wrapped itself around my thoughts. What if the enemies who escaped the war were still hunting me? What if fate denied me even one last look at her?

The taxi stopped in front of my house. I scanned the darkness, my breath tight in my chest, and then stepped inside.

She was there—my beautiful, fragile wife—standing alone on the balcony, waiting. I don't want nothing but rip those thin fabric and claim her as mine.

I went to her without a sound and whispered into her ear,

Did you miss me?

She didn’t hesitate. Not even for a heartbeat. She turned and clung to me as if letting go would shatter her. I lifted her into my arms and kissed her trembling lips. She was warmer, softer, sweet, more precious than I had ever imagined during the long nights of war.

I sat her gently on the balcony railing, and we spoke for a long time—about everything and nothing. My eyes kept returning to her lips, the same lips I had dreamed of surviving for.

She smiled and noticed that I'm staring her lips.

What?

She asked softly wearing that sweet smile.