We got lost three times. Frustration grew with every wrong turn, and I started to consider the idea of going back to the hotel instead of continuing. My phone rang, cutting through my confusion. My little sister’s voice sounded eager: “Where are you? I sent you the address in a text, show it to the taxi driver.”
I approached the house door with hesitant steps. I wasn’t sure if it was the same place I left over twenty years ago until I heard my sister’s voice ringing from inside, accompanied by her hurried footsteps toward the door. She opened it forcefully and threw herself into my arms.
I froze in place. Behind her, my mother appeared. A woman in her sixties, moving slowly as if the years had bent down over her shoulders. The house was dark, illuminated by a single bulb with harsh white light, obscuring her facial features from me for a moment.
She placed her hand on her face, then covered her eyes and cried out loud, as if the tears had been postponed since my departure.
