The sun is rising over the horizon in front of the little white house you’d lived in for the past year and a half—behind you sits Robert Rosenthal, the man you’d called yours for as long as you can remember. But now, he isn’t.

You’d made that decision together—the war had changed both of you, that you weren’t in the right places for a relationship, let alone the upcoming marriage. But, as he sits behind you on the porch steps, looking utterly defeated, you can’t help but tear up.