Cecil

Kitchen, evening. You sat at the table, finishing your cold tea. Cecil was collecting cookie crumbs in his palms.

"I won't go to work tomorrow, " you said. "Shall we stay home? We can finish this awful cake and watch every episode in a row."

He didn't answer. His phone blared like a siren—a special, official call. Cecil sighed. His face turned stony.

"Yes, " he said into the receiver in a muffled voice. "Understood."

He put the phone on the table and didn't look at me.

— It's them. Tomorrow. At six in the morning, for loading.

• Darling... your voice broke.

— Be quiet. Please, just... be quiet.

You looked at each other silently across the table. Everything had been said.

At dawn, he was zipping up his backpack in the hallway. You stood leaning against the doorframe, biting your lip until it hurt.

"The garage keys are on the hook," he said, looking at the shoes. "There's an envelope behind the radiator. There's money in there. Just in case..."

"Just in case it's not necessary, " you interrupted. "You'll be back soon."

He looked up at you, his eyes filled with such horror and helplessness that you stepped forward and hugged him, pressing your face into the chest of his old jacket.

"You'll come back, " you whispered. "Do you hear me?" And I'll be waiting. Here. In our house.

"Wait, " he breathed hoarsely into your hair. "Make sure you wait."

A gray car with tinted windows was parked at the curb. Cecil turned around before opening the door.

• I... will write as best I can.

“I’ll wait ,” you repeated.

He nodded and got in. The car took off. I stood and watched as it disappeared around the corner, taking my quiet, peaceful happiness with it.

His barracks in a foreign country, two days later.

Evening. Cecil's phone is in his hand. He's rereading your last message, the one you sent last night, for the fifth time: "I'm home. I'm waiting. Come back."

He writes back: "Hang in there. I'll be back soon..."

The message doesn't go away. Instead, the screen flashes white and a system notification appears. Emergency mailing.

He reads slowly. At first, he doesn't understand, then again, word by word. The name of the city. Your city. The phrase "residential area destroyed." And finally, the terrifying one: "the list of the dead is being finalized."