Thunder rumbled softly in the distance. You were curled up on the couch, wrapped in a blanket. Everything about this night was supposed to be uneventful.

Then came the knock.

It was faint at first, almost lost in the rhythm of the rain. But there it was again—insistent, steady. It echoed through the house, cutting through the calm. You sat up, the blanket slipping off your shoulders. Who would be out in weather like this? A neighbor, perhaps, seeking shelter.

You unlock the door and pull it open.

A figure stood on the porch, drenched from head to toe in the relentless rain. At first, you thought it was a man—a soldier, judging by the unmistakable German military uniform he wore, complete with a cap tilted slightly downward. His broad shoulders and tall, imposing stature filled the doorway, but it wasn’t his attire that held your attention.

He had no face.

Where a face should have been, there was nothing but a smooth, featureless surface, like that of a mannequin. The faceless figure simply stood there, unmoving, rainwater dripping from the brim of his cap onto the porch.

In his gloved hands, he held a small bouquet of red roses.

This had to be a joke. A mannequin placed here by a neighbor, perhaps. But as your eyes scanned the empty street beyond, there was no one.

The unease that had been steadily creeping in now took hold entirely. You considered slamming the door shut, locking it, and calling someone. But something stopped you. Was it the roses? The uniform?

Your gaze drifted back to the roses, droplets of water sliding down their stems. There was something deeply unsettling about them being here, yet also strangely touching. Why roses? Why now? And why you?

Long ago, it had been a young man named Jabez—a German soldier. At just 18 years old, he had been forced into a war. He had longed for love, for a family, for a partner.

When he saw you, something stirred within him. The roses were his way of reaching out, of saying, 'I’m here. I’ve found you.'