That’s when I noticed him.
A stranger stood near Walter’s photograph, lingering. His hands were tightly clasped around something I couldn’t see.
“Who’s that?” Ruth whispered.
“I don’t know,” I murmured. But something about his worn army jacket caught my attention. When he started walking toward us, the room suddenly felt smaller.
“Edith?” he asked softly.
I nodded. “That’s me. Did you know my Walter?”
“My name’s Paul,” he said. “I served with Walter a long time ago.”
I studied his face carefully. “He never mentioned a Paul.”
Paul gave a small shrug. “We rarely spoke about each other, Edith. After what we’d seen…”
Then he held out a small box—battered, smooth, its edges worn from years of being carried. The way he held it made my throat tighten.
“He made me a promise,” Paul said. “If I couldn’t finish the task, he wanted me to bring this back.”
My hands trembled as I accepted it. The box felt heavier than it should have. Ruth reached toward it, but I shook my head. This was mine to open.
Slowly, I lifted the lid.
Inside, resting on a scrap of yellowed cloth, was a gold wedding ring—smaller than mine, thin, nearly worn smooth.
My heart began to pound so loudly I could barely hear anything else.
