The Way Back (Andrea’s Point of View)

We stayed overnight in a cheap motel—sand still clinging to Anthony’s curls, the air thick with salt and silence. He fell asleep on the other bed with his arms splayed out, lips parted like he’d been dreaming of clouds.

I sat by the window most of the night, watching headlights crawl across the parking lot. I didn’t cry. I just breathed.

Ran out of adrenaline.

Ran out of excuses.

And finally, I ran out of reasons to stay away.

Because this wasn’t me anymore, the girl who disappeared when things got too loud inside her own chest. I had Anthony now. I had someone watching. Someone learning from how I held my pain. Someone who needed me to show up, not just survive.

And if I was honest, I missed him.

Doc.

His stupid calm. His steady hands. His voice could pull me down from the ledge without even trying. The way he made me feel like maybe—just maybe—I wasn’t broken beyond repair.

So, I drove home.

The roads looked different in the morning light. Softer. Like they forgave me a little.

When I pulled into the driveway, Joe was sitting on the front steps, half-asleep with a mug in his hands. He didn’t look surprised to see me.

He just stood and opened the front door.

“Doc’s in the kitchen,” he said. “Didn’t sleep.”

I nodded; throat tight. “Is he mad?”

Joe gave me a look—gentle, exasperated. “He’s worried. He’s in love with you, not stupid.”

Anthony scrambled past me and into the house before I could even take a breath. “DADA!” he shouted, and I winced, because yeah—he still called him that, even when I wasn’t sure what I wanted him to be.

Doc stepped into the doorway of the kitchen, catching our son mid-run. He scooped Anthony up with practiced ease and kissed the top of his head.

And then his eyes found me.

He didn’t say anything.

Just stood there, holding the little boy who tied us together more tightly than any ring ever could.

“I’m sorry,” I said. It came out in a whisper. “I got scared.”

“I know,” he said. No blame. Just truth.

“I didn’t leave because I don’t love you,” I added quickly, heart pounding.

“I know,” he said again. “But you need to believe that you do.”

That hit harder than anything Tio had said.

Because he was right.

Love wasn’t just about what I felt in the soft moments. It was about what I chose when things got hard. And I’d run. Again.

I stepped forward slowly. “Can I come home?”

“You never stopped being home,” he said softly. “But I need you to stay this time.”

“I want to,” I said. “I’m just… still learning how.”

He walked to me and pulled me into his arms, Anthony squished between us, squealing with delight.

“We’ll learn together,” Doc whispered against my hair. “No finish line. Just the next breath.”