when I see a man standing near the door with a bouquet of flowers in his hands. It doesn’t matter that the lights are still on and I can see him clear as day. My brain doesn’t compute right away and so I stare in shock at my husband, who I haven’t laid eyes on in two whole months—fifty-seven days, to be exact. A scream flies from my mouth as I sprint across the room, eating up every inch of space between us in desperation. The flowers he’s holding are crushed between our bodies as I soar into his arms, crashing against him.
