Chapter 11: Coming Home

Her Return

Carla pulled her suitcase up the walkway, eyes scanning the neighborhood like she wasn’t sure it was real.

The same lawns. The same hedges. Same squeaky gate latch.

But something in her had shifted. And I could feel it even before I saw her.

I was already waiting at the window. The second I spotted her, I was out the door, barefoot and running.

She dropped the suitcase and met me halfway.

No words.

Just arms around shoulders. Chest to chest.

Home.

Look at Me

“Welcome back,” I murmured into her hair.

She didn’t answer right away. Just clung to me.

Then: “Gracias ... I missed this.”

Her voice was muffled, but I felt it in my chest.

When we finally pulled apart, I kept my hands on her waist, just to make sure she was real.

“You okay?” I asked.

She nodded. “Tired. But good.”

Her eyes flicked to the porch. “Can we...?”

“Yeah.”

Wood and Meaning

We sat side-by-side on the swing. She leaned her head back and sighed.

“I got you something,” she said suddenly.

She reached into her bag and pulled out a small wooden carving. Simple. Elegant. A pair of hands cupped together, fingers interlaced.

“It’s called ‘Manos Unidas.’ Reminded me of you,” she said softly.

I ran my fingers over the smooth wood.

“You thought of me while you were gone,” I said.

Carla glanced at me, eyes searching. “You knew that.”

Maybe. But hearing her say it was different.

Crossing the Line

The air between us changed.

Slower. Heavier.

I turned to her. “You didn’t call.”

She looked down. “Lo sé.”

“Why?”

Her voice was low. “Because I knew if I heard your voice ... I wouldn’t come back the same.”

I reached for her hand.

This time, she didn’t pull away.

I leaned in, slow enough to stop if she wanted me to.

She didn’t.

Her lips brushed mine—hesitant, then firmer.

She pressed closer. I pulled her in.

Soft. Lingering. Like we’d been waiting forever.

When we broke apart, she whispered, “Te extrañé, Eli.”

“I missed you too,” I said.

And meant every word.