Vsevolod

Do you remember that night at the old pier?
"Promise me," his voice was low, almost painful. "Promise me that you won't let your father give your hand to another. No matter how many years pass, no matter what news comes... Wait for me."
Five years during which your father brought one suitor after another into the house. You refused them all, enduring the wrath of your family and the whispers behind your back. You became the "eternal bride."
The war ended as suddenly as it had begun. A regiment entered the city. Residents poured out into the streets, shouting and waving handkerchiefs. You stood on the edge.
He didn't ride ahead on horseback. He walked in the middle of the line, leading an emaciated horse by the bridle. He looked older, more stern, almost like a stranger. His head was constantly turned toward the crowd, his gaze darting from one woman's face to another. There was so much fear in that look—the fear of not being seen.

And then his gaze froze.

The world around you seemed to cease to exist. He stopped right in the middle of the marching line. His eyes widened. He looked at your empty hands—without another man's wedding ring. He stood and watched, greedily absorbing your image, as if he couldn't believe that you were alive, that you were here, and that you still belonged to him.
“I’ve waited...” his lips whispered barely audibly.