The plane landed. Snow was sprinkling on the ground. The luggage carts were free. No one was howling as passengers exited into the airport. Everyone was tall, beautiful and intelligent (ok, most everyone). The smell of freshly baked saffron buns filled every café. The taxi's car seat was not broken and salsa music was not screaming out of other cars' windows.
Then, at 8 pm, my baby came home. My Bella baby.
We were home. After a month and a half.
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