She pulls me close, squeezing so tight I can barely breathe. The familiar scent of her perfume and baking bread wraps around me. I didn't realize how much I missed this. How much I needed it.
"My baby." She rocks me gently, the way she did when I was small. "You're here. You're really here."
"I'm here."
She pulls back, holding my face in her hands. Her eyes are wet. She studies me like she's checking for damage, cataloging every detail.
Then her gaze shifts over my shoulder.
To Dante.
I watch her expression change. Recognition flickers first. She remembers him from the hospital. The man who wouldn't leave. The man covered in blood who sat in the corner like a shadow.
Mom looks at me. Then back at Dante. Then at me again.
Something passes across her face. Understanding, maybe. Or acceptance. I can't quite read it.
Then she steps around me and walks straight to Dante.
He goes rigid. I see his shoulders lock, his jaw clench. He's bracing for rejection. For the cold shoulder. For the same look my father gave him two years ago.
Mom opens her arms and hugs him.
Dante freezes.
His hands hover awkwardly at his sides. He looks at me over her shoulder, eyes wide with something close to panic. I've never seen him look so lost.
"Thank you," Mom whispers against his chest. "Thank you for bringing her back to me."
Dante's throat works. He doesn't speak. Can't, probably. But slowly, carefully, his arms come up and wrap around my mother.
I knew it.
When Mom finally releases him, I turn and arch my eyebrow at Dante.Told you so.
He glares at me. But there's something soft underneath it. Something cracked open.
"Richard!" Mom calls into the house. "They're here!"
Footsteps thunder down the hallway. My father appears in the doorway, still wearing his reading glasses, a newspapertucked under his arm. He's grayer than I remember. More lines around his eyes.
"Marina."
I run to him.
Dad catches me the way he always has. Strong arms. Solid chest. The smell of coffee and old books. I bury my face in his shoulder and feel like a little girl again.
"Missed you, kiddo."
"Missed you too, Dad."
He holds me for a long moment. When he pulls back, his eyes are suspiciously bright behind his glasses. He clears his throat and looks past me.
At Dante.
The two men stare at each other. Dad's expression is unreadable. Dante's is carefully blank. The tension stretches.
I step back and gesture between them.
