One evening, as I was preparing a simple meal, I heard the familiar sound of boots crunching against the gravel path outside. My heart pounded. Was it him? Had he finally come home?

I rushed out, only to be met with the sight of Japanese soldiers. My breath hitched as my hands instinctively clutched my stomach. Fear gripped me, but before I could react, one soldier stepped forward. He looked at me—not with malice, but with something else. Pity.

And then, he said it. Words I never wanted to hear.

“Your husband… he is gone. He fought bravely.”

I felt my knees weaken, my vision blurred by tears. The world spun, and my heart shattered into a million pieces. Gone? No. That couldn’t be. I had waited. I had prayed. How could he not return?

The soldier hesitated before speaking again. His voice was low, almost guilty.

“You must hide. Leave this place. More soldiers will come, and they will not be kind.”

I stared at him, confused. Why was he telling me this? Why would an enemy soldier spare me?