Maria, a married Frenchwoman living in Nazi-occupied Hautmont in the Second World War, is in need of a unique kind of love. Who would've thought that uniquely forbidden love comes in the form of a devilishly handsome Nazi Lieutenant?
(Inspired by Su...
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Unknown P.O.V.
January, 1947
Fort-Louis, France
* * * * * *
Otto Krämer was sat in her living room.
He was different, she knew that much. He had grown a beard, a light brown colour, it was, and it shadowed his face, like his past shadowed his soul; Otto seemed absent, like something was missing. Of course, Maria was watching him from between the gap of her son's bedroom door – she now lived in a small fishing cottage by a lake which exuded its bitter coldness into the thin walls of her house – because she was scared to disturb him.
When she had answered the door to him, it was close to midnight, and the last person she was expecting to see, was her first real love. Her husband, Pablo, had died in the last couple of years of the war, and when she received the telegram, what she felt most was relief. Relief – she didn't have to face Pablo and confront him about his unknown son, Tommy. Relief – she didn't have to force herself to love him, any longer. Relief – there was now a potential chance for Otto to come back to her. And he had.
He was sat in her living room, his aged – yet timelessly handsome – face looking around the small, cramped room in content. The crackling fire from the log burner cast a bright orange shadow against his face, and Maria was momentarily transfixed. He was a truly beautiful man, and she had had their son – Gabriel – to make up for the absence of Otto's face in their time apart. After all, Gabriel was Otto's walking double.
In her momentary trance, though, Maria had mindlessly leant against the door, causing it to open rather suddenly. Otto glanced up at Maria's embarrassed face in shock, then came the awe.
She hadn't changed, he thought to himself, staring at her with what he didn't realise were bedroom eyes. He'd meant what he said to her before he'd left Hautmont; he truly did love her.
Otto stood up as Maria entered the room – she tepidly closed the door behind her – and they stared at each other from the different corners of Maria's living room. What they felt towards each other, more than anything, was confusion – bemusement.
What was Otto doing here? Had he really come all the way from Berlin, for her – for their son? Was Otto the same man as he had been when he left her? Why hadn't he said anything to her yet?
Could she forgive him – for leaving her without any providence for their son, after all these years? Was Gabriel really his? Did she mean what she'd said, just before Otto had left Hautmont – did she really love him, too?
