I tried not to scream when Mom told us that Dad was getting off the plane. It had been two years… and he was coming back to us alive.

When I heard my little brother Michael squeal and yell “Daddy,” I widened my eyes and whipped around. There he was, his hair and beard gone but his twinkling green eyes still the same. He had a huge lopsided grin on his face.

“Dad!!!” I ran to him, sobbing happily into his shoulder. “You’re okay, you’re okay…”

“Hey, kiddos,” he whispered, and by the tone of his voice I could tell that he was crying, too.

Mom came running over once us kids had finished reuniting, and they kissed too many times for my liking and mumbled some inaudible words into each other’s ears.

“Don’t leave again, please Daddy,” I said, using ‘Daddy’ so that he knew I meant it. I really, really did.

“I’ll try not to, baby. I promise.”

***

A month had barely passed before he broke his promise. And this time, he never came back.