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Penelope sighed as she tried to focus on the pages in front of her, but anticipation kept her from reading. She sat on her side of the bed, legs folded, the book she could not focus on resting in her lap. It had remained her side of the bed, even after twenty years of sleeping alone. She supposed she could have spread out and taken more room, but she always found herself staying on one side in hopes that her husband would return.
And here he was.
Penelope glanced up from her book as Odysseus walked into their room. He had bathed and was no longer covered in the blood of the suitors that had long haunted these halls. He seemed put together in a fresh tunic with his hair combed back, but he looked lost.
His eyes met Penelope’s and he held her gaze. She could see millions of thoughts swirling behind those eyes, each fighting to be the first tumbling out. Penelope found herself smiling internally at the familiarity of his eyes full of endless thoughts.
Instead of going to his side of their bed, Odysseus hesitantly stepped forward and lowered himself to sit on the edge of the bed on Penelope’s side. He gazed at the ground and she sat up expectantly. Neither seemed sure what was supposed to happen next.
Finally, he spoke. His voice sounded weary.
“It was you,” Odysseus said, eyes still trained on the ground, spinning their wedding ring on his finger.
Penelope slowly closed her book and set it on the table next to her, listening intently.
“Well, you and Telemachus,” he chuckled half heartedly as he continued, “the thought of getting back to you two is what kept me going for all of those years. And now I’ve finally returned. And Telemachus is no longer the infant I remember holding ever so briefly before I set sail.” Odysseus looked up and met Penelope’s eyes, searching, “And you–”
He cut himself off with a sigh, looking back down at his hands.
“I apologize for taking so long. For my absence through these years that were supposed to be ours.” His voice caught, ever so slightly, and Penelope leaned forward as he got quieter, “I fear I have returned to this home a stranger, no more worthy of yours or Telemachus’s love than the men who raided these halls in my absence.”
At this, Penelope reached forward, taking one of Odysseus’s hands in her own. She gazed down at it thoughtfully.
“Your hands are rougher from their years of toil at war and at sea,” She said simply, tracing his calluses with her fingers, “but the way they fidget is the same.” She finished with a smile in her voice. She looked up and met Odysseus’s eyes. A small glimmer of hope had broken through the storm trapped within them.
“Your eyes are filled with memories of loss and hardship,” She said sadly, reaching a hand up to rest on his cheek, “but they’re still the clever eyes I fell in love with all those years ago, bursting with endless thoughts and schemes.”
She traced her fingers over his weathered face, noting the grooves that marred his once youthful skin and Odysseus’s breath hitched lightly.
“The smile lines and worry lines I came to know so well are deeper and more pronounced, but they are still the same lines.”
Penelope moved her hand down to Odysseus’s chest, letting it come to rest above his heart, “And, I can see that your heart has grown defensive and put up many walls over the years to prevent it from breaking completely,” His hands reached up and gently enveloped her own. They had inched closer to each other, “but underneath those walls, I am willing to bet that your heart is still full of fire and love for your home. For me and for our son.”
Penelope looked up and met Odysseus’s eyes determinedly, “You are worthy of that love. You are my husband, and you always have been. A couple of difficult years cannot change what is true at your core.”
The pure love and adoration that was radiating from Odysseus’s gaze was almost overwhelming. Penelope had forgotten what it felt like to be loved so completely and wholly and not just as an object of desire. It unbalanced her and she faltered, breaking their gaze. She decided to add some levity to their conversation before this emotion overwhelmed her completely,
“I am only sorry you had to return to this old crone–” she began to laugh lightly, but Odysseus cut her off with a serious look.
“Pen,” she felt one of Odysseus’s rough hands cup her cheek and turn her gaze back to his. Penelope’s heart swelled at his nickname for her. She had longed to hear her name on his lips for what felt like a lifetime, “You are as beautiful as the day I had to leave you.”
Odysseus’s eyes flickered ever so briefly down to Penelope’s lips. For as much of a leader as he was on the battlefield and at sea, he had never been the one to make the first move in their relationship, ever respecting Penelope’s space and independence.
Penelope laughed through the tears welling in her eyes and leaned forward, closing the gap between them to kiss her husband.
His lips were the same lips she had imagined kissing all of these years, the ones that fit perfectly to her own. The kiss was salty and sweet, accented by their mixing tears and the wealth of sweet nothings they had been saving just for each other.