Homesick.

” She turned five today ” he said handing me a photograph.

He looks at that picture every night. The one where she was learning to walk, in her little pink frock that he’d gotten her for her first birthday, holding her daddy’s finger with all her little ones, smiling at her mom with the camera, wanting to reach her, hobbling all her way.
His pillow soaked his tears every night as he looked at his eighteen month old Emily, named after her Mother’s fascination over their ‘ Ross-and-Racheal’ like love story.

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(image source : Pinterest)

He talks of all those presents he’d buy for all her birthdays that he had missed and how he’d make it upto his wife. He talks about the house he’d buy with a swing in it’s backyard where he’d play with his baby girl every dusk. He dreams every night of how he’d swing her in his arms and her innocent laughter that followed built the silver lining to his clouds. He blathers of how he’d drop her to school and he’d keep an eye on the guy who his daughter gives her heart to. He spends his days thinking of all those things he’d say to his family and how they’d forgive him at once for they had been missing him the same all these years. He reveries easy streets ahead with his family by his side.

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(image source : Pinterest )

” She has your eyes ” I told him as i gaurded the prison dorm. He gave me a smile which failed to hide his pride.

And at moments like that, as much as it killed me to see his hopeful, happy eyes just at the thought of them,  I couldn’t tell him. I couldn’t tell him the truth. I couldn’t  tell him  that they weren’t mad at him. They were gone.

And dead.

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