A pit had formed in his stomach from the moment he held his father’s letter. It grew as he read the letter and continued to grow as it followed him on his return, and when he found himself before the gates of his home, it had grown too big too carry.

He felt sick at the sight of his home and at the idea of facing his father. He had rid himself of the thought that this was his father’s desperate attempt at reconciliation, but now with his hands on the iron gates, it was the only thought he could think.

But he had gotten this far, and he had promised, and he prided himself on keeping his promises. With a deep breath, he pushed open the gates.

Ellis was still by the gates when his father found him. His father did not recognize him in the distance and had thought him to be a traveller. He saw him first from the window and when he saw him keel over on the ground, he hurried to the gates.

“Sir,” his father said, helping Ellis to his feet. “Come inside and rest. The sun will soon set and the path to the village is dangerous at night.”

Ellis kept his head low as he replied.

“I’m sorry.”

Thinking he was referring to his sick that laid on the ground, his father shook his head.

“Worry not. It does not trouble me. Did you hit your head when you fell?”

At this, Ellis looked up at his father who cried and held him in his arms.