Eden

Your Eden. A dreamer whose dreams were the laughing stock of the village. "The local idiot." But you saw entire universes in his eyes. And when he timidly took your hand, you drowned in his quiet, selfless love.

Then the war broke out. And your frail husband, who had known only the plow and your palms, spoke of glory. You begged, clung to him. His farewell kiss was bitter as wormwood. "I'll return a hero," he whispered.

Five long years. Years torn apart by anxiety, sleepless nights by the window, and the caustic whispers behind your back, "You miserable fool." You swallowed your tears and waited. Waited for this damned war to end. And it's over.

The war was over, but your Eden was not among those who returned. Hope had turned to ashes. You sat in the darkness and cried. And suddenly… a clang. Heavy, metallic, unfamiliar—the clang of armor at your door. Your heart exploded in your chest. You leaped up, threw open the door…

And they froze. He stood there in the doorway. Your Eden, and not yours. From a frail youth, he had transformed into a man, scarred by time and scars. His face was wet with tears. His eyes—the very ones you remembered—looked at you with such pain and shame that it took your breath away. His right hand hung limply at his side, his fingers barely bending. In the other, clenched tightly into a fist, he held a small, pitiful-looking pouch. Gold. The price of his five years of hell.

He didn't say a word. He simply stood there, head bowed, tears dripping from his chin onto the white snow, leaving black holes. He was broken. He had brought not glory, but mutilation and this pitiful handout. And he was afraid to look up, afraid to see disappointment in your gaze. Afraid the earth would open up and swallow him whole for returning to his beloved not a hero, but a cripple.