When traffic opened, we moved past the airport signs and toward streets I knew.

I had imagined coming home throughout the previous two days, but I had always stopped before the actual door.

I had pictured James’s mug, his shoes by the back wall, his glasses beside the sink.

The ordinary things we had left because we were supposed to return together.

I had not pictured myself carrying both sets of luggage.

“You have eaten?” Hassan asked.

“On the plane.”