Bad Memory

~Welcome Home~

Instinctively, I reached for his hand. “I’m so sorry.”

He shrugged. “I just wish I’d had a chance to say goodbye.”

Despite his attempt to appear nonchalant, I saw right through the façade. Almost two decades later and this wound was still raw.

“Let me show you around,” he said, leading me away from the living room.

Ezra showed me the kitchen, dining room, study, and master bedroom. Everything was tidy, but with the exception of his parents’ picture, there were few personal touches.

“There’s one last room,” he told me as he opened a door across from the master bedroom and gestured for me to step inside.

My jaw dropped.

The room was filled with my personal items. Paintings I had made as a child were framed on the walls like legitimate art pieces. My collection of stuffed animals was displayed in the corner. Even my desk had been brought over, with my small collection of books on a floating shelf above it.

“Ezra…” I breathed, but didn’t know how to finish the sentence.

“I didn’t know what you would want, so I had them bring everything last night. I figured it could be your-”

Before he could finish, I wrapped my arms around him in a hug. Tears pricked at my eyes, but I held them back as best I could.

“You like it?” he asked as I pulled away.

"Like it?” I repeated. “Ezra, I love it. Thank you."

The dazzling smile he gave me was one I wanted to see every day for the rest of my life.

“Would you like to shower?” he asked.

A shower sounded lovely – I could wash the sticky hospital feeling off me and relax my aching muscles – but I knew that as a wife, I needed to think about what was best for both of us.

“I should get started on dinner,” I told him.

“Don’t worry about that. I had your mom make meals for this week. That should give you time to settle in."

Yet again, I was rendered speechless by my husband’s kindness.

“Go,” he urged with a smile. “I’ll warm everything up."

Once I figured out how to work the knobs in the bathroom, I took the most refreshing shower of my life. It was so amazing that I completely lost track of time and was horrified to find I had taken nearly an hour once I emerged.

I threw on a dress and burst into the dining room where Ezra was reading a newspaper. A casserole dish sat covered in foil in the center of the table.

“I am so sorry,” I apologized.

Ezra glanced up. “For what?”

“For making you wait.”

He smiled. “I’m used to waiting for you.”

He meant it as a joke, but it still stung. He had waited four years for me, and now that we were finally reunited I repaid him by taking a selfishly long shower?

“Shiloh, really,” he said, interrupting my spiraling thoughts of shame. “It’s alright. Eat.”

He scooped me out a helping of my mother’s casserole before helping himself. I stared down at the pile of chicken, carrots, and mushrooms, still wondering what I did to deserve all this.

“What’s wrong?”

Ezra was looking at me, concerned.

“Nothing!" I exclaimed. "I just...I wasn't expecting my husband to be like you.”