Waiting For You

Prologue (EDITED)

"My husband has never been one for writing, but when he does, it's usually poems or song lyrics." The woman said slowly on the television screen.

There was a respectful hush in the café as all listened to the news broadcast. This woman, that stood framed by the screen, had in a few short months captivated the hearts of her people and the rest of the world. Her vulnerable honesty as she shared her, and her husband's story meant that it was their story too.

An unhappy customer started to say something about the lack of progress on his afternoon latte, those around him were quick to hush him. The woman continued, unaware of their attention as she stood in an Auckland studio opening the yellow envelope she held tightly in her hand before slowly reading it to the waiting cameras.

"My dearest Anne,
I don't know what to say, it's as if the world around me just wants to crumble away into the wind. I found him. He lay out there in the morning mist alone, surrounded by the rubble of this war. He was singing the song without words, his face so pale he could have been a ghost. He bled out before me, there was nothing I could have done. I don't think-" The woman's voice slowed, faulted and then stopped. Her shoulders shook and she looked up at the camera, eyes brimming with tears. "I um... please excuse me." She walked off screen.

The people in the cafe stood in silence. Then as if all awakening from a dream, murmurs of surprise and concern rose from their lips. Above the din one voice stood out. "Can you hurry up and make my latte!" The frustrated customer hit the counter with their palm.

A fellow customer couldn't contain his frustration at the man's callousness and exclaimed, "What's wrong with you? Did you not just see what happened? Show some empathy, will you?"