Chapter 3: Back to home

The door closed behind us with a soft click, and as the familiar scent of home enveloped me, I felt a warmth deep in my chest. The house was quiet, yet alive with the sound of my mother's sobs. She stood there, hands trembling as they reached out to me, her elegant figure now undone by the tears that stained her face. My mother, always the epitome of grace, of poise, was broken, holding on to me as if I were the only anchor in a storm. I had never seen her like this, never imagined I would be the cause of such a reaction.

"Lin'er…" Her voice cracked as she held me tightly, her arms refusing to let me go.

I stood frozen for a moment, unable to find the words, unable to comfort her in the way I wanted. Her hands, always so delicate, gripped me with a strength that surprised me. Her red-rimmed eyes, so full of concern, locked with mine, and I saw the pain and relief in them—pain for the time lost, relief that I was home, in one piece.

My father's presence was calm and grounding as ever. His strong hands, rough from years of work, settled on my mother's shoulders, gently trying to pull her back. "Now, now, dear," he murmured in his low, comforting voice. "Calm down; our daughter must be exhausted. Let her come in." His words were always full of quiet authority, but it was the kindness in his tone that eased my mother's frantic heart.

I felt my father's embrace next, his arms wrapping around me with the same unwavering love I had known all my life. His rough hand brushed against my hair, and his lips pressed against my forehead in the most tender of gestures. He kissed me just as he had when I was younger, after a bad dream, after a scraped knee, after a long day. Nothing had changed in this house, in this moment. Home was here, in the warmth of their love.

As my mother finally settled into the sofa, still sniffling but trying to regain her composure, my father sighed and shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. "The youngest went to school," he said softly, referring to my little brother. "He's in military training, so he can't come back for now. Your second brother is filming abroad. No idea where he is." He wiped my mother's face with a clean handkerchief, his actions tender but practical.

I smiled at him, a soft, reassuring smile that I hoped could ease the lingering worry in his eyes. "No need to worry, Father," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "I'm planning to stay for some time."

I saw the tiny wrinkles around his eyes, the little patches of white in his hair, and a pang of sorrow shot through me. Time had passed, and so much had changed while I had been away.

"Lin'er, you ungrateful daughter," my mother suddenly exclaimed, her tone a mixture of affection and reproach. "How dare you not return for five years? Do you know how worried I was?" Her grip on my hand tightened, and I could see the tears welling up in her eyes again.

I sighed, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. "But, Mom, I called you, right?" I tried to offer a soft laugh, hoping it would ease her worries.

"How can that be the same?" she retorted, her voice sharp with concern. "How would I know if you were fine or not? In that dangerous place, I couldn't even sleep peacefully after my only daughter went to the army, full of men. Do you have any idea how I felt?"

I could hear the years of worry and sleepless nights in her words, the heartache that had lived within her all this time. My chest tightened, guilt flooding me as I realized how little I had considered how much my absence had hurt her.

"Mom, look at me. I'm fine, right? Your daughter is back, and I'm safe," I said softly, trying to calm her down. I lifted my hand, gently wiping the tears from her cheek. "Please, don't worry anymore."

But she wasn't quite ready to let go of her worry. "Lin'er," she said, her eyes inspecting me as though seeing me for the first time. "Look at your hands, full of calluses. Look at your face, black as charcoal. You look like you've been living in the wild, fighting for your life!" Her voice wavered, but I could tell she wasn't angry. It was just her way of expressing the anxiety and love she had been holding inside.

I couldn't help but laugh at her words, though I knew they came from a place of deep concern. I was never one to worry much about my appearance, but my mother was always particular about it. I was considered quite a beauty, and she had always taken pride in that. Yet, standing beside my brother, I did admit that my skin tone was a little darker, but charcoal was a bit of a stretch.

My brother, who had been silently observing the exchange, burst out laughing at our banter, his voice light and teasing. He was the one who always managed to bring laughter into the room, even in the most serious of moments. He stepped forward, pulling my mother into a gentle hug.

"Mom, I think you've got it wrong," he said, his laughter contagious. "Lin'er might have a few calluses, but she's still our beautiful little sister. Don't be too hard on her." He turned to me with a wink. "Besides, charcoal or not, you're still the strongest person I know."

His teasing helped break the tension in the room, and I smiled, grateful for his presence. It was moments like these—small, imperfect, yet perfect in their own way—that made me realize just how much I had missed being home. I wasn't just returning to a place, but to the people who made me who I was.

My mother finally let out a small, relieved laugh, wiping away the last of her tears. She had always been the one to hold everything together, but today, it was my turn to help her find peace. We had all been through so much, but now, we were finally together again.

The moment I stepped into my room, I was hit by an overwhelming wave of nostalgia. It was as though time had stood still, frozen in this space that had once been mine. The walls were the same shade of pale blue, the same posters from my teenage years still hung on the wall, and even the pen on the desk sat exactly where I had left it five years ago. It was as if no time had passed, as if I had never left at all. The room was neat and organized, just the way I had always kept it, and the familiar scent of fresh linens hit me like a soft embrace, reminding me of all the moments I had longed for while I was away.

I sank onto the bed, pulling the blankets around me, and closed my eyes, letting the gentle scent of detergent from the freshly washed sheets wrap around me like a hug. It was the scent I had missed the most during the long, sleepless nights spent in the humid forests, surrounded by the constant buzz of insects and the tension of special operations. That smell, so simple yet so comforting, had been something I could never replicate in the field, no matter how hard I tried. And now, here I was, back in the safety of my childhood home, where everything was familiar, where everything was mine.

Without thinking, I kicked off my boots and let the weight of the day slowly slip away. My body was exhausted, every muscle aching from the battles I had fought—both literal and metaphorical. But in this room, I didn't need to be anyone other than myself. The strength I carried with me in the outside world was no longer necessary here. I could be vulnerable. I could rest. And for the first time in years, I let myself completely surrender to sleep.