Now, finally, that was about to change.
He called on Tuesday morning from an airport overseas.
Nine hours before I expected him home.
“I miss you,” he said. “I can’t wait to meet my little girls.”
Then he laughed.
“Although apparently they’re not little anymore.”
And then came the apology.
“I’m sorry I missed their birth.”
“Jeremy, stop.”
“I should’ve been there.”
“You’re coming home. That’s what matters.”
He promised to call after his connection.
A little later, he sent a video of himself walking toward the plane.
I watched it three times.
He looked tired.
But he was smiling.
I’d barely slept the night before.
Both girls wore matching outfits his mother had mailed.
Across their tiny chests, pink glitter letters spelled out, “DADDY’S HOME.”
