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He couldn't eat another bite. Truly, he couldn't. And he hadn’t even been able to get through most of the succulent, Brazilian dishes that his
Evita had prepared for his arrival. His homecoming. He knew his shallow stomach was mostly to blame. The month he’d been in Haiti,
he'd been stricter about his diet, ate less...and unfortunately slept less. But the true reason for his inability to eat his wife’s amazing
meal? He was already so full. Being home, sitting at the table with some of his little family’s dearest friends, bowls of moqueca and
thick, crispy bread on the table. Endless conversation. He knew that was the culprit. He was full of joy. He was home. He was finally with
his wife and his son.
“What was that game called again, Al?†His eyebrows raised as Evita’s voice rose over the laughter, her beautiful eyes shining as
she caught his.
“The one the children played with you at the hospital?†He chuckled a little, realizing that she’d taken on the task of
entertaining their guests...a task that Alvaro was all too grateful to give up. It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate the party and the
faces of his friends greeting him upon his return. But, traveling was tiring, being away from his family for so long and so often was draining
and…
“Warri…†He said with a smile, winking as she pulled attention back to herself, retelling most of the stories and memories that
he’d shared with her during his time in Haiti. The story about the girl who survived a surgery that should have surely taken her life, but for
her resilient spirit, she survived. The story about the unofficial hospital dog that visited the small children’s ward most days and begged for
scraps at the end of the day, as if asking for his shift pay (this was Alvaro’s favorite story). She talked of almost every child, experience,
joy and sorrow as if she’d been sitting beside him every day he’d been away.
Movement on his chest reminded him that AJ was laying there, his short arms still trying to wrap themselves around his father as he slept. Alvaro
smiled, his large hands going to his son’s back, patting lightly as AJ smiled in his sleep, his little lips that looked so much like
Evita’s lifting at the corners in amusement at the dream he was dreaming.