I had bought her a house, outright, in cash, a beautiful place in Austin, so that she would never have to work another day in her life or answer to anyone for the roof over her head.

I had not told her I was coming home.

That was the whole point; it was going to be a surprise.

I had pictured it a hundred times on the long flight: her face at the door, the disbelief, the tears, the two of us standing in the home I had bought for her, finally, after six years, in the same room at the same time.

I had built the entire homecoming in my mind down to the smallest detail.