Meh.

1.a

Before the war, me and Alfie had an agreement to fulfill. He would come home from the war, we would get married, and then we would live a happily married life with little ones scrambling around the bakery. We would grow old and see London grow around us.

How wrong was I. I had managed the bakery while Alfie was fighting the good fight and carried his child at the same time. The baby had miscarried five months into the pregnancy - they said it was underdeveloped and had been mutated. All I knew was that I would never be the same woman again. I was hurting and it felt like God had been punishing me for even carrying Alfie's child. Alfie didn't even know I was pregnant. We never got married.

He came home and was no longer the same man. Not just physically, but mentally as well. The war changed everybody. He walked with a cane now - had injured his back in battle. The brain damage to his occipital lobes had been insignificant enough for him to need reading glasses.

I hadn't been able to meet Alfie's eyes whenever we saw each other. If we saw each other at all. I stayed in my little flat for the most part, bursting into tears every time I saw the pair of baby's booties on the fireplace mantle (they were gifted to me by a close aunt).