Charles

Your story with Karl began in a quiet town. He was a man of honor and promised that time would not destroy your love. When he was called up, he hugged you for the last time on the platform. Three long years passed. At first, the letters were full of tenderness, but at the end of the second year, Karl fell silent. Your despair was interrupted only by messages from his friend: "Karl is fine, just busy, asked me to tell you he loves you." You didn't know that behind this was a truth he forbade you to reveal.

The war was over. Orchestras thundered in the square, his friend met her hero, but Karl was not among the soldiers. His friend, averting his gaze, merely said, "He'll come later. Just wait at home."

In the evening, the lock clicked. A man entered the hallway—by the way he walked, it was him. But Karl stood frozen in the shadows by the threshold.
“It’s me...” his voice became strange and cracked.
He didn't take off his cap, and the collar of his uniform was raised unnaturally high. You took a step toward him, but he recoiled in fear.

• No need. Stay there.

In the dim light, it became clear: his face had changed. It wasn't a fresh wound—an old, whitish mark had long since healed, forever obscuring his former features. He'd hidden it for years, hoping the scar would fade, but the war had left an everlasting mark.
“I feared this day more than any battle...

• I'll understand if you ask me to leave right now.