"I am here," I whispered shakily. "Mum, I am alright."
But she only cried harder.
Behind her, my father stood completely still, though I could already see the redness in his eyes despite the composure he was trying so hard to maintain. His hands were clenched tightly at his sides, like he was forcing himself not to break apart in front of everyone watching, and when my gaze finally met his over my mother's shoulder, something in his expression nearly shattered me completely. Relief, pain, disbelief, all tangled together so tightly that for a moment he looked unable to move.
Then slowly, carefully, he began walking toward me.
My mother reluctantly loosened her hold enough for him to step closer, though one of her hands still remained tightly clutching the sleeve of my dress like she was afraid to let go entirely. My father stopped directly in front of me, and for a second he simply stared at my face in silence before lifting a trembling hand toward my cheek.
