“It isn’t like that. I want to explain, but I can’t do it here. Will you meet me later?”

“What’s the point? It’s over between us, isn’t it?”

He looked back into my eyes, unable to lie. “Yes. It isn’t what you think, but it’s true. We can’t be together anymore. I’m sorry. I told you as much before the war.”

He had, I admitted silently. I recalled our last conversation before he left, me more certain than ever that we should be together, him pulling away. But I hadn’t wanted to hear it.

“You must believe that I would never do anything to hurt you.” His eyes were pleading. “That this is for the best.”

How could he possibly say that? I considered arguing with him. I wanted to remind him of all that we had been to one another and all that still could be between us. But my pride rose up, preventing me. I would not beg for someone who didn’t want me anymore. “Goodbye, then,” I said, managing not to let my voice quiver.

Without speaking further, I turned and started away, nearly colliding with a man unloading crates from a horse-drawn wagon. “Ella, wait!” Krys called, but I kept running, eager to put as much distance between myself and the pain of seeing Krys again yet realizing we could not be together.

When I was several blocks away, I turned back, half hoping that he had followed me. He had not. I continued onward, walking more slowly now, letting my tears fall. My relationship was over. My future was dead. I didn’t understand it. When I looked into Krys’ eyes, I felt the same as I always had. But he stared back at me stonily, as if we were strangers. How could he not remember? Even as I thought about him angrily, warm memories flooded my brain. There had been a kind of desperation when the war broke out, a sense that each time we were together might be the last. It made me feel heady, alive. But it also made me do things I would not otherwise have done. I had slept with Krys just once before he left, instead of waiting until our wedding or even until we were formally engaged, a desperate attempt to hold on to what we had a bit longer. I had assumed that it meant as much to him as to me. Only now he had left me for good.

A few minutes later, I looked up and saw my reflection in a butcher shop window. My eyes were red and swollen from crying, my face puffy. Pathetic, I scolded myself, wiping away my tears. Still, I could not stop thinking of Krys. I imagined him returning to the woman at the café and continuing his conversation with her as though nothing had happened. Who was she? Had he met her while he was away? Despite everything, I knew that Krys was an honorable man and I could not imagine that she had been in his life when we were together. But he seemed like a stranger, and the pieces between when he left for the war and now were behind fogged glass, obscured from view.