After five years of duty abroad, my son unexpectedly returned to find me kneeling, scrubbing the wooden floors of the house I had built with my own hands, my apron stained with dirt, my fingers scratched and trembling, while his wife sat relaxing on an Italian leather sofa, sipping coffee as if they owned the very air I breathed. My son yelled, “What are you doing?” – True Stories
I never imagined my son would come home like that—without a call, without a warning, without giving me even five…