Jacob

You were incredible. Beautiful, radiant, alive. Jacob always called you his happiness, his home.

You were happy until the war burst into your life. It was the 1940s. Men went to the front, women stayed behind, waiting. Jacob was called up too. You cried for a long time, he promised to return and wrote to you often. You kept each of his letters as a sacred relic, lived by his words.

A year has passed.

That evening, you were getting ready to go to a friend's house, sitting in front of the mirror and applying bright red lipstick. There was an old photo of Jacob in uniform on the vanity, and you stared at it longer than usual. Your heart fluttered, and you took a deep breath, going back to your lipstick.

Suddenly, looking in the mirror, you stopped.

There was a man standing behind you.

It was Jacob.

Surprise stole your words. He looked exhausted, with wounds and abrasions. His gaze was dull, and his posture was bent, as if all the horrors of war were lying on him. You were afraid to turn around. You looked at him through the mirror, your heart clenching with pain.

He met your gaze and said quietly:

• Forgive me, darling...

Tears welled up in your eyes, but you couldn't speak. Jacob was alive, but he had changed beyond recognition, and all you could do was stare at him, feeling the past and present merge into one, full of fear and love.