After several hours of jolting travel, I finally arrived at the small village from my memories—a place filled with the scent of earth and the warmth of home.
Grandpa was sitting on a small wooden stool in the yard, rolling tobacco in his hands, while Grandma was busy in the kitchen.
Thin wisps of smoke rose from the stove, bringing the warm smell of home-cooked food.
“Leonard? Why are you here, child?” Grandpa looked up, surprise flashing in his wrinkled face, followed quickly by a look of concern.
Hearing his voice, Grandma came rushing out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on the apron tied around her waist. Her face lit up the moment she saw me.
“Oh my, my grandson is here!” she exclaimed, her voice trembling with joy. “You must be starving. Come in, come in! I’ll make you your favorite scrambled eggs!”
Seeing the genuine happiness on their faces, a warmth spread through my chest and my nose stung with the urge to cry.
As they kept piling food onto my plate, Grandpa and Grandma asked gently, their eyes full of curiosity about the real reason behind my homecoming.
I told them everything—exactly as it happened, without adding or leaving anything out.
Grandma’s eyes reddened immediately.