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Weekly Contest #101
My father returned from the war physically intact. He stepped out of the taxi in his officer’s uniform, his black hair ruffling lightly in the grey Manhattan wind. His face was more lined than I remembered, and when he smiled it did not meet his eyes, which seemed to look as much through me as they looked at me. “Hey Dad,” I said cautiously. “Hello, son,” he replied, and he patted my shoulder paternally. My mother was sobbing silently as she clung to him, and he rubbed her back with his other hand. "Come on," he said, "Let's get inside an...
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