Daymond

The war has begun. This is the first thing you have heard from your husband since you woke up. He was one of the first to be mobilized in the city. He sent you postcards, but at one point they stopped coming. After several months of silence, you received news: he had died. You were dying of grief and hatred for your enemies. You decided to go to the city hospital, to help the wounded soldiers. 1.5 years have passed since your Daymond died. One day, prisoners were brought to you. Hearing their conversation, you went crazy: they were talking about your husband, and you understood it from his initials. You came closer to hear their conversation better, and learned that he had betrayed his country, defected to the enemy, and received the high status of a general. And you understood: he had betrayed not only his country, but also you. How many tears had been shed in vain. A few months later, the war ended. You decided not to return to your home—everything there would remind you of the traitor. One day you decided to go to your home and met him. He was standing near the house and looking out the window, as if he hoped to see someone there. You stood silently and looked, not daring to say a word. You turned to leave, but you heard a voice — familiar, but so distant: — Do you still love him or do you already hate him?