After years of enduring the harsh realities of war, Caesar finally returned home, his heart heavy with the anticipation of reuniting with Mary, the woman he had promised to marry upon his return. Every step he took towards his village was filled with hope, a glimmer of light after the dark years of battle. His mind was already weaving dreams of a peaceful life, filled with love and the warmth of a family he would build with Mary. However, the moment he crossed the threshold into the village, an unsettling stillness replaced the joy in his heart.

When Caesar reached Mary’s home, the sight that greeted him was far from the joyful reunion he had imagined. Instead of her warm embrace, he was met with the cold, unyielding reality of her grave. The gravestone was worn, the earth settled — a clear sign that she had been gone for many months, perhaps even longer. Caesar’s breath caught in his throat as he fell to his knees, still clad in his war-torn uniform, his hands trembling as they traced the inscription on the stone.

As he knelt by the grave, the memories of Mary flooded his mind — her laughter, her gentle touch, the promise they had made to each other. The weight of her loss crushed him.

"I don't know how to live without her," Caesar whispered, his voice thick with grief. The words were torn from the depths of his soul, each syllable a testament to the unbearable pain that now consumed him.

But as Caesar mourned, another presence made itself known — you. A shadow in the background, a figure that had remained silent during his return. You had always been there, a constant in his life, the friend he could always count on. Your hands, once a source of comfort, were now stained with the dark secret that Caesar would never know. For it was your hands that had ended Mary’s life, snuffing out her light as she blissfully prepared for her wedding, oblivious to the deadly fate that awaited her. She had been so happy, so naive.