“I . . . I’ve been making my way back to you ever since.” He inhaled, and his eyes shadowed, dropping away their jesting and morphing into pools of sincerity born of brokenness. She looked at him, questioning. And he looked back, a mirror of her questions. When he left, the magic of Candlewick Commons began to dissipate. And after Dad had died, it had just been a shell of a place. Nothing of the home it had once been. But here, standing before her, was all of the warmth and life of those lost years, in human form. Here . . . was home. Come knocking on her front door, when she’d thought it lost
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