“Michael,” She pulled back and looked up at me. Her green eyes softer than anything I’d ever seen. “I didn’t take a chance. I knew. I’m home.”
Since that time, I have seen those eyes and what they contain every day. When I leave for work, I pause at the bottom of the stairs, and look up. Ginny stands staring at me. “Be careful, Baby. I love you.” “I will, Baby. I’ll call you when I get to work. I love you more.” “No!” She yells at me. “It’s my day. I love ‘YOU’ more!” I laugh. “You’re right. I love you too.”
At the end of the day, I pull the car into the garage, get out, and open the door leading to the stairs and to the kitchen. At the top of the stairs, where I last saw her, stands Ginny. “Hi, Baby.” She smiles down at me. I look up. “There’s my little girl.” I smile. “Yeah! There she is—my little girl.” The troubles of my day melt away. I am home—with her. I haul my tired body, my work bag, and whatever groceries we need that day up the stairs. She takes the bags from my hands, sets them down, and waits for my arms to hold her. We kiss. She looks up at me. I look down at her. Her eyes make my heart pound. And there was my answer. What I saw in their eyes all those years, was the love I felt for them reflected back at me.
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