The Cuckoo's Song

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Anna felt as though she were under water, as if time was slowing down. She tried to quiet her nerves, taking in a deep breath as she stood before the door. She knocked loudly, silence resounding. When no answer came, she knocked again, an irritable groan coming from the other side.

"Klara, I beg of you, stop pestering me about it!" pleaded Hans.

Anna's words were stuck in her throat, no sound escaping her lips.

The door flew open, an angry Hans looking down on her. Then his expression shifted in realisation. They stared at one another in disbelief. Neither of them knew what to do.

"Anna..." he managed, but Anna had already surged forward, gripping him tightly.

She was sobbing into him, her protruding belly making it difficult to hold him close. Tears pricked Hans' eyes as his arms wound around her slowly. They couldn't let go, both of them making up for the years of time that had passed without the other.

Anna never thought she'd feel this again... his arms around her. It felt so different, so alien. It wasn't the same as before. It held a different weight. Hans finally shifted back, cupping her face in his hands. She stared up into his watery eyes and reached out, her fingers brushing the straggling hair from his face. Then they fell and touched his beard.

"This is new," she managed, and he choked out a laugh. They stood for a moment longer, trying to take the other person in. They both looked so different. "There's so much to say," she whispered, and he nodded.

Her hands sat over his, clasping them to her cheek. She had thought she would have held onto more of her anger. It was still there.

But in truth, she was so glad he was alive. She had never wanted to live without him... not with such finality. His touch was a living memory... the only reminder of the light in a dark time.

His eyes fell to her stomach. "You need to sit down," he said, Anna taking in his voice properly again after all this time. He closed the door behind them, guiding her to the bed as Anna accepted his help to lower her down. "Do you want some water?" he asked. She nodded. He seemed reluctant to let her go, but dutifully went to fetch her a glass.

Anna gulped it down, then turned to him again. Her eyes poured over him. She liked how his beard was more ginger than his hair, peppered with notes of grey. He looked older. Perhaps the beard simply reminded her of her father. She could see faint scars on his neck. That must have been where he was shot. She reached out and touched them lightly, Hans' eyes closing for a brief moment. She pulled her hand away and put it in her lap.

"Where do we start?" he asked

Anna let out a huffy laugh. "I have no idea," she admitted.

But really, she knew.

She had mulled over the questions in her mind all day long. It's why she was here at all.

"Karl," she said, Hans sucking in a breath. "Can you to tell me about Karl?"

"He didn't suffer," is all Hans could manage, choked by his own sadness. "And he wasn't alone. I had hold of him."

Anna couldn't stifle a sob. "How did he die?"

"He came back to get me," explained Hans. "He was trying to help me out after I was shot. I think he took a bullet in the back. But it was all so fast. I didn't see exactly."

"That makes sense," she mumbled, her tears spilling down her cheeks.

"I'm so sorry, Anna," he said, Anna looking up at him. "It's my fault."