Every night, he’d sit in Matias’s room, looking at the soccer trophies, the school photos, and the little seashell collection they’d gathered together over the years.
“He’s living the life he deserves,” Lucas told Maria’s picture each night.
The house felt bigger somehow.
And emptier. The silence was no longer peaceful but oppressive. Lucas found himself talking to the chickens more, just to hear a voice — any voice — in the yard.
Then, one evening, a knock came at the door as Lucas sat staring at his untouched dinner.
Different from that first time. Softer, uncertain.
He opened the door to find Matias standing there, shoulders slumped and eyes red.
“I couldn’t sleep,” Matias said simply. “The beds are too soft and the house is too big.
Everything’s too much and not enough.”
“Son, what are you—”
“You’re my FATHER! The only one I’ve ever needed. The only one I’ll ever need.
I can’t be without you.”
“The chickens have been clucking your name all day!” Lucas joked, wiping away a tear.
“Just the chickens?” Matias managed a watery smile.
Tears welled in Lucas’s eyes as he looked at his son, his heart overflowing with love and pride. “What about your uncle?”
“Don’t worry, Dad. I’m sure he’ll come for me again.
But this time, I’m not leaving you… no matter what.”
Welcome home.”
As they walked into the house, Matias looked around, his face glowing with nostalgia and relief. He took Lucas’s hand, holding it tightly as if to make up for the weeks they’d been apart. They knew they were all each other needed.
