Chapter 8: The Long Road Home

The journey took many days.

He walked without sandals — they had worn through long ago. Sharp stones cut his feet. The sun burned his cracked skin. He begged for scraps at farmhouses along the way. Some gave. Most did not.

That evening, he rested beside a well. An old woman sat nearby, clutching an empty bowl. Her hands shook. Her eyes were hollow with hunger.

He reached into his bag and found his last piece of bread — stale, hard, barely enough for one.

He thought of the beggar he had mocked in the city. The coin thrown at his feet. The laughter.

He broke the bread in two and placed half in the woman's hands.

OLD WOMAN“Bless you, son. May God bring you safely home.”

He could not speak. He only nodded.

On the final morning, he climbed a familiar hill and saw it — the estate, the olive groves, the house where he had counted stars on the rooftop.

His legs trembled. His heart pounded.

What if he refuses to see me?

He almost turned back.

But the old woman's blessing echoed in his mind. He forced his feet forward — down the hill, toward the gate.

He did not know that his father had already seen him.