She came down the steps slowly.
Then she took his face in both hands.
For a long moment, she simply looked at him.
His forehead.
His eyes.
His mouth.
The gray at his temples.
The lines grief and fear had carved into him.
“You’re here,” she said.
“I’m here.”
“You’re really here.”
“Yes.”
Then she pulled him down into her arms, and the sound she made was something I still cannot properly describe.
It was a sob, a laugh, a prayer, and twenty-three years of waiting leaving her body all at once.
Levi stood beside me, crying openly.
My mother saw him over Jesse’s shoulder.
She reached one hand toward him without letting go of her son.
“And you,” she said. “Come here too.”
Levi stepped into her embrace like a boy who had not realized he was allowed to belong.
