Her hair was shorter than he remembered.
Her face was thinner.
A faint scar crossed one eyebrow.
But her eyes were the same.
“Layan?”
She looked up.
For a moment, she seemed unable to recognize the older man standing in the doorway.
His hair had grown grayer.
The lines around his eyes were deeper.
Three years of grief had changed him.
Then she whispered, “Dad?”
Mahmoud crossed the room.
He wrapped his arms around her.
She remained stiff for one brief moment.
Then her hands rose and clutched the back of his jacket.
He buried his face against her shoulder.
“My daughter. My daughter.”
She began trembling.
“I’m sorry.”
He pulled back.
“What?”
“I’m sorry I didn’t come home.”
Mahmoud took her face between his hands.
“Don’t say that.”
“I promised.”
He shook his head.
“You’re here now.”
“But I promised before sunset.”
His expression broke.
He held her again.
