In the fall, the war arrived in Saint-Martin without noise. No cannon thundered, no bomb did not fall. One morning only, the inhabitants opened their shutters and discovered on the square several gray trucks covered in dust. The engines ran for a few minutes then stretch, leaving a silence unusual floating above houses lowlands of the village.

Marie Duval observed the scene behind its curtain. She did not distinguish still the faces, only the straight silhouettes of soldiers who were unloading wooden boxes. No one shouted, no one protested. The baker remained motionless in front of his shop and the postman forgot his tour.

We simply understood that something had changed definitely. In the following days, life resumed appearance. The children went to school, the women washed the clothes in the wash house. And the men spoke of harvest as if nothing had happened product. However, the evenings became more short. The doors close before the complete nightfall and conversations ended at the slightest sound of footsteps in the street.

Mary lived alone with her daughter Claire, aged 14 years. Her husband had been mobilized for 2 years earlier and no letter was arrived months ago. She had learned to stop waiting for the postman. Three days after the arrival of the soldiers, an officer read a list in the square. Some soldiers would be housed with the inhabitants.

When the name of Mary was pronounced, she felt fear immediate inexplicable squeeze chest. Claire, next to her, didn’t understand at first, but the face of his mother is enough for him to grasp the seriousness of the situation. Commander Carl Hoffman arrived in in the afternoon. He knocked on the door like an ordinary visitor.

Upon entering, he took off his hat and bowed politely French. His accent was light, almost applied. He gave no order, only asked where was the room intended for him. Marie led him upstairs. He went up slowly up the stairs, examining the house without apparent curiosity, like if he already knew every piece. The first night, Marie stayed awake.

She listened to the noises from the ceiling, the wood cracking and shifting occasional use of a chair. However, nothing nothing alarming occurred. The next day, the officer had his coffee, thanked and spent the evening reading. Claire, at first intrigued, observed this calm man, almost self-effacing.

He doesn’t didn’t look like the noisy soldier that she imagined. The weeks passed like this. The commander, spoke little, did not show himself neither harsh nor familiar. He sometimes played piano in the downstairs room. A music slowly filled the house and each once Claire approached in spite of herself. Marie remained in the background, unable to say why this sweetness worried him more than brutality.

One evening, when the lamp was burning faintly the kitchen, Marie surprised the the officer’s gaze on Claire. Nothing overtly threatening, just attention that is too fixed, too long. When he noticed that she was watching him, he immediately looked away and continued his book. But Marie felt the birth of a confused certainty.

The danger did not announce not always its presence by violence. Sometimes he entered gently, almost politely and sat down without noise. As the days go by, habits changed again. Claire stopped stay alone in a room when the commander was there. She doesn’t care did not complain, but his way of moving around the house became prudent, almost calculated.

Marie noticed that she always found an excuse to go out when the man went down to the living room. Sometimes she was going to get water from the well then that the jug was full. Sometimes, she claimed to have forgotten a notebook at a neighbor’s house. Nothing was said clearly, but everything was becoming obvious for an attentive mother.

One November afternoon, the rain fell gently and the village seemed deserted. Marie was preparing the soup when Claire suddenly entered in the kitchen. She didn’t seem frightened, only troubled as if she didn’t know how to explain this that she felt. She stayed for a while without speaking then asked in a voice hesitant if she could sleep in the his mother’s room that night.

Mary accepted immediately without asking questions. She understood that a change had happened. Invisible but irreversible. That evening the commander remained long time sitting at the table after the dinner. The wall clock marked each second with precision unbearable. He spoke little, talking about the weather and the roads made impassable by mud.

These words were banal, almost reassuring, but Marie felt that she was only a veil placed on something else. Claire went upstairs early go to bed. Marie remained in the kitchen, putting away the dishes more slowly than necessary, hoping that the man would finally leave. Yet he remained there, silent, observing the flame of the lamp.

When she was the light and went up the stairs, she had the sensation of being followed by a gaze. She closed her bedroom door and pushed the dresser in front without really know why. Claire was not sleeping. The little girl stared at the ceiling, attentive at the slightest noise. That night, none no one reasoned in the house.

None cry was not heard and, yet, the sleep did not come. The next morning everything seemed normal. The commander saluted, drank his coffee and left the house to join the place. But Claire’s face had changed. There was no trace visible, no injury, only one sudden maturity, as if childhood had withdrawn within a few hours.

Marie understood that an invisible threshold had just been crossed. The war was not no longer a distant rumor told by newspapers or passing soldiers. They now lived between the walls of their house. The neighbors continued their lives, but looks became heavy with silent questions. Nobody asked for nothing directly.

In these At that time, we avoided knowing so as not to not have to speak. Mary learned to respond in short sentences and smile without conviction. Every evening, she was checking the locks. Every night, she stayed awake longer than the previous one. The commander, he maintained the same calm attitude. He was reading.

sometimes wrote and played still piano, but the music is not went further upstairs. So there was an expectation indefinable. Nothing was really happening. However, the Fear never left the house. Mary one day observed his reflection in the window and did not immediately recognize himself. She then understood that war not always destroyed by noise and violence.

Sometimes it transforms slowly the faces, the gestures and the silences until the life before becomes impossible to find. The evasion that year. One morning, the village woke up under a layer of frost which covered the roofs and tree branches. The air seemed heavier, more difficult to breathe. Marie lit the hair before even getting up of the sun.

Claire remained near the warmth, silent, hands outstretched towards the flame. For several weeks, she had been talking less still, as if every soft required too much effort. Commander Hoffman went down further later than usual. He greeted politely and thanked for the coffee. Nothing in his attitude betrayed a change.

Yet Marie now observed every gesture with attention. She noticed the way he sometimes stopped in the frame of a door or the way he listened the sounds of the house. He never raised his voice, never posed never direct questions. It was precisely this absence of brutality which worried the most. In the village, rumors began to circulate.

One woman claimed that a neighboring family had sent his daughter to live with cousins in the countryside. Another said that some young girls no longer went alone in the washhouse. Nothing was confirmed. Nothing was explained but everyone seemed to understand without the need for proof. Conversations stopped when someone was approaching and looks were immediately turned away.

One evening, as night fell very early on, the electricity was cut off in several streets. The house sank into the darkness. Marie lit an oil lamp and placed on the table. The shadows enlarged the walls and corridors. Claire remained near her without moving. The commander sat opposite, observing the flame. For a long time, no one spoke.

Finally, he simply mentioned the war. Not the fights, nor the victories, but fatigue, long marches and towns that he had crossed. His voice remained calm, almost soft. He said that war changes people, that she forced everyone to do what that he would never have imagined previously. Marie listened without responding.

She understood that these words were not a confession, but a justification addressed to himself. That night, Claire asked again sleep with his mother. Mary did not refuse not. They stayed awake for a long time, listening to the wind hit the shutters. Around midnight, a light noise was heard on the stairs. Not footsteps, more a presence.

Someone stopped before their doors, remained motionless for a few seconds then left. No words were spoken. However, Marie felt her heart beating so hard that she feared that she might be heard on the other side of the wall. In the morning, the commander acts as if nothing had happened. He took his coat, got dressed and left the house to join the square.

Claire remained near the window, observing his silhouette moved away. Marie noticed that she was waiting always disappears completely around the corner before moving. The following days, Marie took a decision. She wrote to her sister who lived in another region, asking if Claire could spend some time at her home.

She hesitated before posting the letter, aware of the risk of attracting attention. Finally, she gave it to the postman avoiding his gaze. She did not explain nothing, but he seemed to understand. That same evening, the commander asked if everything was fine. The question was simple, almost benevolent, but Marie perceived a worry there different.

She replied briefly that yes. He looked at her face for a few seconds then returned to his book. To that moment, she understood that he saw more than he said. The snow started to fall a few days later, covering the roads and slowing down travel. Residents went out less. The silence of the village became almost total, only interrupted by noise distant from a military truck of time to another.

Marie was waiting for a response to her letter impatiently. Every day without mail increased his anxiety. One night, Claire whispered that she wanted leave quickly. Not because she had afraid, she said, but because she could no longer bear the wait. Marie found nothing to complain about. She simply hugged her daughter close to her, understanding that childhood was moving away irremediably.

A few days later, a response finally arrived. His sister accepted to welcome Claire. The departure should be done discreetly as soon as a safe transportation would be possible. Mary felt a relaxation mixed with a new concern. Leave the house also meant recognizing that the danger really existed. The commander did not change attitude.

However, the evening when Marie prepared Claire’s suitcase, he remained sitting in the kitchen for a long time without read. He was just looking at the table as if absorbed in his thoughts. Then he declared in a low voice that the roads became dangerous due to controls. Marie did not answer, but understood that he knew. That night no one slept in the house.

The next day, Marie got up before dawn. The house was still plunged into darkness and cold seemed more lively than the other days. She lit the fire in silence so as not to not wake Claire. However, the little girl almost opened her eyes immediately as if she had not really slept. They exchanged a look without speaking.

Everything had already been included during the night. The suitcase had been packed the day before. It contained few things, a few clothes, a school notebook and a family photograph taken before the war. Marie checked each object with excessive attention, as if a forgetfulness could make the departure impossible.

Claire remained near the table, motionless, observing his mother. The commander went down rather than usually. He saluted then stopped seeing the suitcase. His gaze passed briefly of the object to Claire then to Mary. He didn’t ask any questions immediate. He just had his coffee and remained standing near the window. Outside, the place was almost empty, covered with a thin layer of snow.

After a few minutes he spoke of a calm voice. He says the roads were not sure. that the controls were frequent and that traveling demanded caution. These words could be understood as a warning or as a simple note. Marie replied that she had not no choice. Silence fell again. Claire put on her coat and scarf. His movements were slow but determined.

Marie adjusted, smoothed her hair and avoided crying. She wanted this moment to remain simple, almost ordinary. However, each second seemed to weigh more. Before leaving, Claire looked at a last time the room. Nothing had changed and yet everything was different. She took her mother’s hand. The commander moved slightly to allow them passage.

He opened he himself carries it. Cold air entered immediately into the house. In the square, a cart was waiting. The driver agreed to take him to the main road. Few people were outside at that time. Marie accompanied her daughter until vehicle. They stayed for a while face to face, unable to speak. Finally, Claire went upstairs.

The cart walked away slowly. Marie Vesta motionless until it disappears end of the street. When she returned, the house seemed too big to him. The silence was no longer the same. There is no no longer expected danger, but the absence of someone. The commander remained in the entrance. He closed the door gently.

During for a moment they both remained without know what to say. Then he declared simply that time would end change. Marie understood that he was speaking things other than the weather. The following days were strangely calm. No news arrived immediately, but no incident occurred produced either.

Marie continued her daily tasks, but every gesture reminded of Claire’s absence. The chair empty at the table became unbearable evening. One evening the commander dropped off a book on the table. He explained that he belonged to Claire and she had it forgotten. Marie did not remember this book, but she took it.

This banal gesture apparently had an unexpected effect. For the first time, she no longer lives only the officer, but a man tired. Later he spoke little about the war, but mentioned the possible end of the fighting. He said everyone would go home yourself one day. Marie did not answer. She knew that some things would never go back to the way they were before.

The next night was the first where she slept for a few hours. The silence remained present, but he was no longer charged with the same fear. The house seemed to be waiting like her for a uncertain news. A few days later, a message finally arrived. Claire had arrived safely at his aunt’s house. She was fine.

Mary reread the letter several times before place it on the table. She then felt an immense fatigue overcomes her as if she had been holding her breath for month. The commander observed the letter without asking for it. He understood immediately. He nodded slightly head and left without another word. Marie remained alone in the kitchen, still holding the paper in his hands.

That evening, for the first time since for a long time, she opened the shutters despite at night. The village was silent, but she no longer lives there only fear. She also quickly has the possibility of a tomorrow. The war was not over, but she had ceased to live entirely his house. The weeks passed slowly. Winter settled permanently on Saint-Martin.

The roads become difficult, the less supplied markets and inhabitants rarely went out after dark day. Marie resumed her habits, but nothing was really the same as before. Every morning she reread the letter from Claire before starting her day, as if to convince oneself that all this was real. Commander Hoffman remained discreet.

He left the house early, came back late and spoke even less than before. Sometimes he would sit in front of the window without reading, just observing the empty place. Marie noticed that he often wrote, filling in the papers he was putting away immediately in his bag. She did not pose never any questions. One afternoon, the church bell rang for a long time.

A military convoy crossed the village carrying wounded soldiers. The inhabitants observed from a distance in silence. Marie saw the commander among them, speaking briefly with an officer. Sound face seemed more closed than usually. When he returned in the evening, he only asked no dinner. He only sat near fire and remained motionless.

The following night, an engine noise reasoned for a long time in the distance. Mary does not hardly slept at all. She understood now that the war was getting closer, even if no fight had yet reached the village. In the morning, the commander announced that certain routes would soon be closed. These words remained calm, but their meaning was clear.

The inhabitants began to stockpile food. Queues lay down in front of the bakery. The conversations became even more brief. We spoke in a low voice as if the walls could listen. Mary felt a new concern arise in the entire village. One evening she found the commander in the kitchen, examining the letter from Claire remained on the table.

She rested immediately when she entered. He only said that he hoped that she would stay safe where she was. Marie replied that she hoped so too. This was the first time they spoke clearly openly. Soon after, the snow began to fall again, thicker than previous times. The silence of the village almost became unreal.

Marie spent long hours sewing to occupy his mind. The commander sometimes plays the piano, but the melodies were slower, almost hesitant. One night there was a knock at the door. Two soldiers brought an official message. Marie did not understand the words, but she experiences the tension in the attitude of the officer.

After their departure, the commander remained standing for a long time without moving. He ends by saying that the military situation was changing rapidly. and no one knew what would happen in the following weeks. From that moment on, the days seemed even shorter. Mary felt something approaching without knowing what exactly.

The commander sometimes prepared his things and then put them away again. He seemed to be waiting for an order that he feared as much as he hoped. One morning, the square was suddenly lively. Vehicles passed quickly without stop. The inhabitants remained behind their windows. Mary observed for a long time, aware that the calm of village was perhaps coming to an end.

The evening, the commander simply declared that the war was getting closer. It was not no longer a distant presence. She was now moving towards them. At night following was agitated. In the distance, muffled explosions reasoned for the first time. They were still far away, but close enough to disturb the sleep of the village.

Marie remained seated near the window, looking into the darkness while the commander listened in silence since the staircase. No words were exchanged. In the morning, several residents left Saint-Martin with carts loaded with suitcases. Some said that the fighting was approaching. Others were just hoping to avoid uncertainty.

Marie hesitated, but she had no idea somewhere to go. She waited for a new letter from Claire which did not come not. The commander spent the day the exterior. When he returned, his uniform was covered in dust. He announced that communications would be soon to be cut off and civilians had to stay at home.

His voice remained calm, but Marie understood that the situation was serious. In the following days, the sounds of war came closer. The explosions were sometimes audible, especially the night. The village lived in waiting permanent. The residents hardly spoke anymore. Even the animals seemed nervous. One evening, the commander placed a envelope on the table.

He explained that it contained information allowing Marie to join a zone safer if necessary. She understood that he was trying in his own way to protect her. She thanked him simply. The following night, the shots were made closer. The windows shook slightly. Marie remained in the kitchen with a lamp on.

The commander sat down in front of her. For a long time he didn’t speak. Then he said the war would end one day day and that everyone should live with this that he would have seen and done. Marie replied that she did not know what that the future held, but that she hoped to see his daughter again soon. The commander nodded without answer.

He looked at the flame of the lamp like if he tried to read something there. The next morning, soldiers hurriedly left the village. The inhabitants watched behind their half-open shutters. The commander packed his suitcase. He explained that he had to leave with his unit. Sound your tone remained neutral, almost professional.

Before leaving, he asked on the table a small package containing some provisions and a notebook. He says just that it could be useful. Marie accepted without knowing what to say. No thanks seemed enough but no reproaches appeared possible either. He opened the door and stood for a moment on the threshold. The village was silent, covered by a low sky and gray.

Then he bowed briefly and walked away towards the square. Mary the watched him leave without moving. The following hours were strangely calm. No soldier remained in the house. For the first time since For a long time, she found herself alone. This new silence was almost difficult to bear. A few days later, others Troops crossed Saint-Martin.

The residents finally left their homes. The war continued elsewhere, but it was moving away from the village. Mary waited another letter. She finally arrived at the beginning of spring. Claire wrote that she was fine and she would come home soon. Marie read her lines again and again. She then understood that despite everything that had happened, a part of his life could start again.

The house was no longer the same. She doesn’t more, but the calm returned allowed him to breathe for the first time since months. The war had crossed their existence silently at first and went away now almost the same way, leaving behind a silence different, full of memories. Marie closed it gently that evening and for the first time, she no longer had afraid of the night.

Spring came slowly to Saint-Martin. Snow melted, revealing the earth dark fields and deep traces military wheels. The inhabitants came out more as if they rediscovered the village after a long absence. Yet everyone spoke still in a low voice, park. More than out of necessity. Marie resumed her daily actions. She cleaned the house room by room, opening the windows to hunt the smell of cold and smoke.

The Upstairs room remained last. She hesitated for a long time before entering. When she finally opened the door, nothing had moved. The bed was perfectly done, the table empty. Alone the clearer trace of the removed frame on the wall indicated that a presence had existed. She will look at the room for a long time, but feeling persisted.

It wasn’t fear, more of a memory difficult to name. She closed the door without yet deciding to what use she would make of this room. The weeks passed. The market resumed slowly. The children were playing again near the fountain, although their laughter remains shorter than before. We were talking about the possible return of men went to the front, but no one dared really believe it.

Mary received a new letter from Claire announcing her return soon. She reread the lines several times before smiling for first time in a long time. She set about preparing the house, repairing clothes and carefully putting away familiar objects. One evening, while sorting through leftover papers in a drawer she found a notebook forgotten and belonged to the commander.

She hesitated, aware that she would not have Maybe I shouldn’t have opened it. However, the curiosity won out. The pages contained mainly dates, places and short notes. Nothing personal, only observations on the roads, weather and travel. A single sentence written differently caught his attention.

He mentioned the difficulty of remaining simply human in a time which forced everyone to choose between obeying and understanding. Marie closed the notebook in confusion. She understood that even those she had feared were living their own struggle interior. A few days later, Claire returned finally. She got off a cart with a hesitant smile.

Mary kissed him for a long time. No words was not necessary. The village observed discreetly the scene as if confirm that life was returning. The first days were simple. Claire resumed her habits, but she seemed more serious than before. She helped her mother more and stayed often silent. Marie didn’t ask any questions immediate.

She knew that some things took time. One evening, Claire asked what had become of the upstairs bedroom. Marie replied that she had no longer entered it. They went up together. The room was clear, bathed by the light of the sunset. Claire remained motionless for a moment, then opened the window. Spring air entered slowly. They then understood that the house belonged to them again, even if the past left an invisible trace.

This return did not mean forgetting, but the possibility of continuing despite everything. The following days were dedicated to finding a rhythm ordinary. Claire went back to school with the others village children. At first she walked near her mother to the gate. Then little by little, she agreed to go alone.

The teachers themselves seemed hesitant as if they were learning to teach in a different world. Marie observed her daughter carefully. She noticed that Claire was avoiding certain subjects and preferred to talk about simple things. The garden, the chickens, the new flowers near the path. This silence was not an oversight, but a way to regain a foothold in the daily life.

The village was changing too. The residents spoke to each other more on the place and change news compare letters received. Some men finally returned and tired. The reunion was discreet, often silent. We understood that everyone was wearing memories difficult to tell. One Sunday the church bell rang longer than usual.

The Many inhabitants went there. Marie and Claire sat at the back, press observed. The priest spoke of hope and patience without directly mentioning the war. However, everyone knew that he addressed invisible wounds. When she returned, Claire asked if everything would go back to the way it was before. Mary replied that no life returns exactly backwards, but we learns to live with what has been.

The little girl seemed to think for a long time to this response. The weeks passed and the house gradually found a familiar appearance. Marie transformed the upstairs bedroom as a sewing piece. She moved the furniture, cleaned the walls and left enter the light. This symbolic gesture helped her more than she could have imagined.

One afternoon, while putting away a box, Claire found the forgotten notebook. She showed his mother. Marie hesitated then he simply explained that it belonged to someone who had lived there for a difficult time. Claire didn’t insist. She rested the object without opening it. In the evening, they stayed close for a long time from the open window.

The sounds of village seemed calming, ways distant, a dog barking, raising in the trees. Marie understood his sounds Ordinary had more value that she had never thought about it. With the arrival of summer, the fields turned green again. The inhabitants were now talking about harvests rather than soldiers. However, no one was unaware of what had taken place.

The memories remained present, but they no longer dominated every moment. One day, a rumor announced the end next fights. The news is spread quickly, welcomed with caution. We did not yet dare to rejoice fully. Marie observed Claire played near the fountain with other children. His laugh still shy was gradually returning. That evening, Marie closed the door of the house without checking the locks.

She went up to bed and turned off the lamp. For the first time for a long time, the night represented more of a threat. only necessary rest. She then understood that the war had left invisible traces, but that she had not destroyed their ability to continue. Life would never be exactly again the same. Yet she remained possible. And in the regained calm of Saint-Artin, mother and daughters begin finally to look to the future without fear every day.

Summer sets in fully on Saint-Martin. The days became long and bright and the heat finally replaced the persistent cold of the previous months. The inhabitants worked in the lobe fields. The windows remained open until late in the evening, letting in the familiar sounds of village. Marie sometimes found herself forgetting for a few minutes every month elapsed.

She observed clearly helped by garden, water the plants and laugh with the neighbors. This laughter remained discreet but he existed again. For Mary, it was already a lot. The weekly market resumed animation. We exchanged vegetables, bread and especially news. The rumors spoke of an advance in allied armies. No one dared yet believe it completely, but hope appeared in the eyes.

One morning a group of soldiers crossed the place. They did not stop, but their passage attracted the entire population behind the half-open shutters. Marie looked without emotion particular. The military presence no longer caused the same immediate fear, only one deep fatigue. Claire asked one day if the man who had lived with her would come back.

Marie remained silent for a moment before to answer that she didn’t think so. The little girl nodded and added nothing. She seemed to accept this response without relief or concern. Weeks passed again. The fields of golden vines. The inhabitants were now talking about the future, reconstruction and the gradual return to an ordinary life.

Marie sewed more, resuming her work for the neighbors. Each repaired clothing gave him the impression to also sew up part of their existence. One evening they found a letter slipped under the door. She was not wearing no signature, only a few carefully written lines. The message simply indicated that some people had not forgotten the kindness received on time difficult and hoped they were safe.

Marie understood without certainty, but she folded the papers and put it in a box. She didn’t tell Claire about it. immediately. She preferred to keep this discreet memory without looking for it give a precise meaning. Sometimes understanding was not necessary to continue. At the end of summer the bells rang louder than usual.

The village officially learned of the impending end of occupation. The inhabitants came out on the square first cautiously then with more confidence. We exchanged hesitant glances before to dare to smile. Marie remained a little behind. She observed Claire who mingled with the other children. She understood that the main thing was not to erase the past, but to allow his daughter to have a future.

That night she sat by the open window. The air was sweet. None no soldier reasoned in the street. She realized the silence had changed of nature. It was no longer a silence fear, but a restful silence. She went to bed late but slept deeply. For the first time in a very for a long time, autumn returned slowly a few weeks later.

The leaves turned yellow around the place and the air cools in the evening. Saint-Martin gradually found a stable rhythm. The residents were talking now openly, without lowering the voice, as if fear were fading away finally. Marie continued her sewing work. Orders were increasing, signs that everyone began to foresee the future again.

Claire returned to school completely and linked up again with his comrades. Sound laughter, still measured at the beginning, became more natural over time. One day, they decided to put away permanently preserved objects since the war. In a box that remained closed was some papers, the anonymous letter and the notebook found previously.

Marie hesitated for a long time then chose to only keep the family photograph. The rest was carefully wrapped and placed at the bottom of a cupboard. This gesture does nothing, but it made it possible to put at a distance what he no longer needed to occupy each day. Claire observed without questioning questions.

She seemed to understand that certain memories remained present even when they were no longer mentioned. The village soon organized a small party to celebrate the newfound peace. Of tables were set up in the square and everyone brought what they could. The music resumed timidly. Marie watched Claire dance with other children under the lanterns improvised.

She then felt a deep relief that she had never known before. During the evening, several residents spoke of the past months. The words remained cautious, but the silences had changed. We don’t no longer sought to completely forget, only to continue without staying prisoner of memory. On returning, the night was clear.

The windows of houses remained open despite their late. Marie stopped for a moment in front of their door before entering. She understood that the house had found its meaning. No longer a place of waiting and fear, but a place to live simply. Claire went up to bed and fell asleep. quickly. Marie remained for a moment in the silent kitchen.

She thought of past me, to fears, to decisions taken without certainty. She realized that It wasn’t just the end of a war, but the end of an era of their life. She opened the window one last time times before dark. The wind brought the smell of the fields and the distant noise of a conversation on the square. Nothing extraordinary, only signs of a rediscovered normality.

Mary was the lamp and went up the staircase. She walked past the room from upstairs without stopping then entered in his. Before going to bed, she looked at the photograph for a moment placed on the bedside table. She understood while the memory would always remain, but that it would no longer prevent live.

and for the first time the future seemed to him larger than the past.