That summer, I returned home.
I hadn't been home in two years, but the airport was exactly the same.
My parents were waiting for me at the exit. My mother had lost some weight, and my father's leg had healed a lot. I ran over and hugged them, tears streaming down my face.
"It's good to have you back. It's good to have you back," my mother said, patting my back, her voice choked with emotion.
On the way home, my father drove, and my mother sat in the passenger seat, constantly turning around to look at me.
"You've lost weight, but you look well," my mother said.
"Of course," I said, smiling. "Your daughter is a Market Street elite now."
"What Market Street? It's just good to have you home," my father snorted.
Leaning back in my seat, I watched the scenery fly by, and a sudden sense
