PART 6
Six months after the trial, our house finally felt like a home again.
The expensive furniture was gone.
Most had been seized.
We replaced it with simple things.
A wooden dining table.
Family photographs.
Jamie's drawings taped to the refrigerator.
Sarah planted flowers in the backyard.
I built a treehouse with Jamie.
Every Sunday we cooked breakfast together.
Pancakes.
Eggs.
Too much bacon.
Too much laughter.
Sometimes...
The richest moments cost almost nothing.
One rainy evening, Jamie climbed into my lap while we watched the storm through the living room windows.
"Dad?"
"Yeah?"
"Were you scared in Saudi Arabia?"
I smiled.
"Sometimes."
"Were you lonely?"
"Every day."
He thought quietly.
Then asked,
"Why didn't you quit?"
I looked at Sarah across the room.
She smiled through tears.
Then I answered honestly.
"Because every single day..."
"I believed I was building a better life for my family."
Jamie wrapped his little arms around my neck.
"You still did."
I blinked.
"What do you mean?"
"You came back."
That was all he said.
May you like
But somehow...
My eight-year-old son had forgiven five stolen years with one sentence.
