The air in the back of the truck made a low hum, a sound Ethan had heard all the time for the last five years. But today, it felt like freedom singing. He couldn't stop the little smile that kept showing up on his face.

"You're really happy, Walker," Sergeant Davies said with a chuckle, giving him a nudge. "Finally going to see your wife, huh?"

Ethan just nodded, feeling a tight feeling in his throat. It was impossible to explain how much relief he felt. "And my boy," he finally said, his voice a bit rough because he hadn't used it much for talking about feelings. "He was just a baby when I left."

Corporal Jones, who was usually quiet, leaned closer. "Five years is a long time, mate. You must be so excited."

"Excited doesn't even cover it," Ethan agreed, and a real laugh came out. It felt strange and wonderful at the same time. He hadn't told his wife exactly when he was coming home because he wanted to surprise her. Just thinking about her face and her hugs had helped him through so many tough nights.

When the truck finally stopped near the edge of Manchester, where he knew his way around, a huge wave of excitement almost made his knees weak. He gave his friends a quick nod, a silent promise to properly catch up later, once he was back to his real life.

He walked the last part, carrying a bag over his shoulder, his heart beating really fast. Then, in the distance, across the big green field near their house, he saw her. His wife.

She was sitting on a bench, and he knew her shape even from far away, against the late afternoon sun. Her head was down, reading a book, and her long hair looked beautiful in the light. Suddenly, he felt shy, a bit unsure. Five years. Had he changed too much? Did he even look okay? He quickly ran a hand over his short, white hair.

Just as he was about to walk towards her and say her name, a name he'd thought of like a prayer for so long, the door to their house flew open. A small person, full of energy, ran out onto the grass. His son. He was now a lively, active five-year-old boy, like a tiny version of the baby Ethan remembered holding.

Running after him, a flash of golden fur, was Buster, their old Golden Retriever. He was now a big, playful dog. Buster's nose was good, and he smelled Ethan on the breeze first. With a happy bark that went across the field, he ran as fast as he could towards the man standing still at the edge.

His son looked where Buster was running and pointed a little finger at Ethan. Then he grabbed his mother's arm and shook it, trying to get her attention. She looked up, a little confused at her son's excitement and Buster running so fast. Ethan held his breath. In that one look of confusion, all five years of being away disappeared. It was her. And their son. And their dog. Home.