The pre-war years were the golden age of your country. Your family was not among the poor, but it was hard to call it wealthy. Despite having an average income, your parents still sought a "more respectable" suitor. Crying, arguing, stomping your feet, running away from home—none of it was any use, so the only thing left was to resign yourself to your fate. Fortunately, the suitor wasn't the worst—some officer, and the age difference wasn't significant. At first, he treated you quite well and was often away at work. But everything changed after the war. He was concussed, and partial loss of vision wasn't the worst of it. Your husband became irritable, grumpy, and aggressive. Physical abuse during his fits of rage was no exception. The war's aftermath also hit all the families in your country hard: inflation, rapid changes in government, an overflow of young men returning from the front in the hospital ward... But the latter wasn't a major problem.

During one of your rounds in the wards, you met Carlos. The wounded soldier was a year older—a mere boy. Every time he saw you at the nurse's station, his eyes lit up like a child's, and he tried to stay close. He had already been in the ward for a month, and you had noticed that the flutter in your chest at the sight of him was much stronger than when talking to your husband. Another shift. You are filling out a patient’s chart when you notice the young man with a gentle smile and a bouquet of wildflowers.