Hanna I all but jump out of the car at the sight of my dad waiting for me in the driveway. The years have been unkind to him, his graying hair and sickly pallor heartbreaking to witness. Tears brim my eyes as I run to his open arms and give him a tight hug. “I’m sorry,” I whisper, my throat choking up with all kinds of emotions that I’ve bottled up for two whole years. “I’m sorry for leaving you.” He simply rubs my back and kisses my hair. “Welcome home, sweetheart,” he says softly. I nod and smile. The scent of motor oil is strong from him, which tells me he’s been working on the garage this morning. “Let me look at you,” he says, a smile on his face. “My little girl’s all grown up.” He kisses the top of my head and wipes my tears, pinching my cheeks to make me laugh. His dark blue eyes look away from me for a second. That’s when I remember my best friend who came with me and drove me all the way back home. Dean is taller than dad, with a lean build and a million-dollar model’

HannaDinner is as awkward as one can imagine. Dad cooked my favorite Italian dish tonight—spaghetti made with his special homemade tomato sauce and fresh mozzarella and savory buttery garlic bread sticks. He even brought out mother’s pretty china, the ones with long stalks and tiny pink flowers with gold accents crimping the edges.Dean, unbothered by the stern aura my dad’s oozing out, continues to wolf down his food like he’d been starving all day. Any other day, this sight would’ve pleased dad. But tonight, he says nothing.I take a big bite as well and I almost begin crying again from how good it tastes. Nothing can come close to a nice home-cooked meal. They say love is the special ingredient and dad’s cooking proves just that. When I tell him the news, I’m sure he’d love to cook this more often.Speaking of news, I peer up at dad to see him staring at me. I promised I’d explain after dinner since Dean and I barely had time to eat on the road, wanting to arrive before it got dar