For six years I thought my son had left me without looking back. The morning he returned, I thought I would finally get the answers I'd been waiting for all those years. Instead, I discovered I'd been asking the wrong questions the whole time.
They knocked on the door just after dawn.
I almost ignored it.
Marcus had already gone for his morning walk and wasn't expecting anyone. I adjusted my robe and opened the door.
A man was standing on the porch.
He was tall, broad-shouldered, and wore dark jeans and a simple navy blue sweater. His hair had been carefully cut, and his jawline was concealed with a short beard. He stood erect, almost military in posture.
For a moment I thought I had gone to the wrong house.
Then I saw his eyes.
My knees almost gave way.
"Andrew?"
He swallows but doesn't smile.
"Hi Mom."
A sob caught in my throat.
Six years.
She had imagined this moment every day. She had dreamed of seeing him at the supermarket, at church, even walking down the sidewalk. Sometimes she imagined him older. Sometimes she imagined him exactly as he was the night he disappeared.
But never like that.
