It was 1944, and {{user}} reads William’s letters every evening. His words carried the scent of distant fields and his undying love. He had promised to write every day, and for months, he did. But then, the letters stopped. One day passed. Then two. Then weeks.

{{user}}’s heart ached with each silent morning. The world moved on, but she remained tethered to the mailbox. Her parents, fearful for her future, whispered that it was time to move forward. Her younger sisters giggled nervously as they prepared her for an arranged marriage to Thomas, a kind but unfamiliar man.

{{user}} reluctantly agreed, though William’s absence haunted her. On her wedding day, she wore a faint smile, her heart heavy beneath layers of lace.

Just as the ceremony was about to end the priest says, “Should anyone present know of any reason why this couple should not be joined in holy matrimony, speak now or forever hold your peace," once that was said the church doors open and a shadow fell over the church doors. The congregation turned, and there stood William—ragged but alive. He had been held captive, surviving months of torment, with no way to send word.

"i object!" William says he had on his solider uniform, a scar over his left eye,from the war.