Chapter 9 - Homecoming RestoredThree days later, the house felt different again.
The grey canvas prints had been stripped from the living room walls and tossed into the dumpster out back. In their place, my mother and I hung the old family photographs—the ones of my childhood, my father’s smile, and our lives before the greed took root.
My mother was sitting in her favorite armchair by the bay window, a warm mug of chamomile tea in her hands. The bruises on her arms were healing, and the hollow look in her eyes had been replaced by her customary, sharp-as-glass brilliance.
“You know, Mark,” my mother said softly, taking a sip of her tea and looking out over the manicured lawn where Mr. Henderson was currently pretending very hard not to look at our house. “I always knew she was ambitious. But I never took her for a fool.”
“Greed makes fools out of the smartest people, Mom,” I replied, sitting on the edge of the coffee table across from her.
“And what about you?” she asked, her sharp eyes scanning my face. “Ten months in the dirt, coming home to that kind of nightmare. Are you going back out there?”
May you like
I looked down at my hands—calloused, steady, and finally home.
“No, Mom,” I said, offering her a genuine, peaceful smile. “My deployment is officially over. For good.”
