What if he came back...

He shuffles into the kitchen on Sunday morning, barely making a sound. My mother looks up from tying my church shoes and then waves him towards the stove. His smile touches his ears and the sun shining through the window warms his face. My sister runs towards him and tightly attached herself to his leg. The ruffling sounds of her Sunday’s best fill the kitchen. A daddy’s girl and mama’s boy. His smile infects my sister, which spreads to me and even makes my mother’s lips curve upward. He has returned to this house after being gone for so long. My sister’s smile is not twisted around a bottle but into a smile. My mother’s lips curve upward and no longer stay in a stern, formal line. My silent smile has replaced my hidden tears. We are a family again, getting ready for a Sunday morning service.