Charles

Your story with Karl began in a quiet pre-war town. He was a man of honor, believed in an "ideal future," and loved your laughter, promising to always be worthy. When the war began, he was one of the first to be drafted. On the platform, to the roar of a steam locomotive, he embraced you and told you that time had no power over your feelings.
Three long years passed. You lived from letter to letter. At first, they came frequently—smelling of gunpowder, but full of love. However, by the end of the second year, Karl fell silent. His best friend wrote in his stead: "Karl is fine, just busy, asked me to tell you he loves you." You believed these words, not knowing the truth he was concealing at Karl's request.
The war was over. Orchestras played in the square, and people greeted the soldiers. Your friend rushed to her returning lover. But Karl was gone. His friend only said, "He'll be back later. Just wait for him at home."
That evening, the house lay silently expectant. Suddenly, the lock clicked. A man entered—you recognized Karl by his gait. But he stopped in the shadows, not coming any closer.
“It’s me…” his voice became lower and hoarser.
He didn't take off his cap, his collar was turned up. You took a step toward him, but he suddenly recoiled.

• No need. Stay there.
  In the dim light, you saw that the right side of his face was disfigured by an old scar. He'd been undergoing treatment, hoping it would disappear, but the war had left its mark forever.
  "It's been too long," he said quietly. "I dreaded this day more than the battle. I don't know if you'll ever be able to look at me the same way again... and I'll understand if you ask me to leave..."