Lila
Mom arrived just as the sun was dipping low, turning the sky a soft burnt orange. I heard the car pull up before I saw her, the familiar crunch of tires on gravel, and the quiet beep of the lock. I was already at the door when she stepped out, suitcase in one hand, phone in the other, looking tired but smiling the moment she saw me.
We met halfway up the porch steps. She dropped her bag and pulled me into a tight hug, arms wrapping around me like she hadn’t seen me in years instead of weeks.
“I missed you so much,” she whispered into my hair, squeezing harder. “You have no idea.”
“I missed you too,” I said against her shoulder. My voice cracked just a little. I hadn’t realized how much I needed this — the normal, safe smell of her perfume and the way she always rubbed small circle
