I gathered the papers, filled in the gaps, and went to the embassy.
The consular officer was an elderly Chinese-American woman in reading glasses. She looked to be in her sixties.
She reviewed my documents, then looked up at me over the rims of her glasses.
"You're going back?"
"Yes."
"You're a scientist?"
"Yes."
She was quiet for a moment. Her eyes reddened.
"I've sat at this window for thirty years. I've watched countless people walk out of here, heading to Canada, to Europe."
Her voice trembled.
"But someone like you, going from America back to China? That's rare."
She stamped my papers without hesitation.
"Welcome home."
My nose stung.
When I was little, my grandfather used to tell me something.
"No matter how far you go, never forget the road home."
He'd been gone for over a decade now.
His grave was back in China, in a small county town in the south.
I hadn't visited him in ten years.
This year, I was going back.
With my dream, with my research, I was going home to see him.
That evening, Robert came through the door carrying a bag.
"Virginia, I brought you something."
It was a small figurine of Cambridge, the university crest engraved into the base.