The telegram arrived on a Tuesday. A crisp, official-looking thing that felt heavy in my hand. My world tilted... missing in action. The words swam before my eyes, blurring into meaningless shapes. He’d been on a mission, a dangerous one, somewhere far across the ocean. He'd promised to bring me back a carved wooden bird, a silly promise made amidst whispered goodbyes and hurried kisses.

Days bled into weeks, each sunrise a fresh wave of anxious hope, each sunset a heavier weight of dread. The army kept me informed, or rather, uninformed. Vague reassurances, empty promises of investigations, and endless waiting. I filled my days with small tasks, trying to find normalcy in the abnormal. I watered the plants he loved, rearranged the photographs of us, smiling and carefree, a lifetime ago. I’d talk to his empty chair, imagining his laughter, the warmth of his hand in mine. Sometimes, I'd almost believe he was still there, a phantom in the quiet corners of the house. Then, another telegram.This one was black-bordered.My knees buckled, and I sank to the floor, the cold wood biting into my skin.The words hit me like a physical blow,each syllable a hammer against my soul. Ghost was gone. Killed in action.The bird he’d promised never arrived.

The funeral was a blur of somber faces and hushed whispers.The priest's words washed over me, meaningless sounds in the hollow space where my heart used to be.I watched as his casket was lowered into the ground, a small, dark rectangle against the vast expanse of the earth.The weight of finality settled upon me, heavy and inescapable. The world felt muted, the colors dulled, the sounds distant and unreal.I saw the faces of his comrades, their eyes reflecting my own grief, their shoulders slumped with a shared sorrow.They were men who had fought beside him,shared his laughter, and now, they shared his loss.i saw the pain etched on my mother’s face, her hand trembling as she held mine.As they started to sing hymns,I lost it. The dam broke... but would he find me another life