They announced the end of the war.
I don't think I believed it at first. It seemed so...simple. A process which had ripped a hole right through humanity, which stole countless lives, and challenged countless morals; could it really have been that easy?
You were there when my father came home, clinging to your stepmother.
There was a great deal of sobbing and hugging and the other typicalities of a reunion. Again, it was one of Those Moments.
When he was finally able to disentangle himself from the mess of tears and happiness that was my mother and I, he turned his attention to you. He crouched down, to eye level, took a deep breath. "Your father was a great man," he said.
You nodded, thanked him for the compliment and added a 'sir' at the end. You were so polite. It was cute.
"You're very welcome, son," he said. Then, he pulled you into a hug.
You seemed torn for a moment, as though you were trying to decide how best to react. But, overcome with the emotion you had worked so hard to keep in check for the past year, you started crying.
It's okay.
No one could blame you.
