And we began rebuilding our relationships one day at a time.
Sometimes, Jory would sit beside me on the porch.
He rarely spoke about the years he’d been missing.
But one evening, he asked:
“Mom, did you ever stop believing we’d come home?”
I looked at him.
Then answered honestly.
“Some days, I was afraid you wouldn’t.”
He nodded.
I continued.
“But I never stopped wanting answers.”
He looked toward the trees.
Then whispered:
“I thought you were dead.”
My chest tightened.
I took his hand.
“I’m here.”
He squeezed my fingers.
“I know.”
Then he leaned against my shoulder.
Just as he had when he was little.
Tobin began playing basketball again.
At first, he was hesitant.
He hadn’t played in years.
But one afternoon, he asked Jory to join him in the driveway.
They argued about the rules.
Jory accused him of traveling.
Tobin insisted he hadn’t.
And suddenly, I heard something I hadn’t heard in six years.
