“Home”

By Kathy Reeves

When I walked in that night—my last night walking in from that job, that commute I’d done for thirteen years—he was waiting for me.

It had been a good day, but a hard day. Saying goodbye to some good people, yet still holding onto grudges against others. Was I free, or was I cast out? Chased off or escapee?  Both, maybe, I’d decided during the long ride home.

So when I walked in that night, I had mixed feelings about having left. Layered on top, of course, was the guilt.

Love is not simple, is it? Of course, no matter how I felt about what I’d done, what mattered more was what he felt. I must have disappointed him. The loss of my income could affect both of us—now and later. I was putting down my burden, but how much would now fall on him?

He met me with a dozen roses, a smile, and a glass of wine.

“I’m proud of you,” he said.

That’s what love is.