Page 350 of Broken Oath

Yet the corridor around us seemed to go silent.

My father stared at me as if his mind couldn’t accept what his eyes were seeing.

As if the mountain had handed him a miracle he no longer believed he deserved.

“Wade.”

My name barely escaped him.

My throat closed.

Five years.

Five years of believing I would never see my family again.

Five years of wondering whether they had moved on.

Whether they had healed.

Whether they had forgotten me.

They hadn’t.

Dad took one step.

Then another.

He moved faster each time.

He stopped directly in front of me and stared.

His eyes traveled over every scar.

Every bruise.

Every piece of damage five years had left behind.

His hand lifted.

Stopped.

Then touched my shoulder.

Real.

Solid.

Alive.

His eyes filled.

“You stubborn son of a bitch.”

I laughed.

Then I started crying.

That only made me laugh harder.