A blur of voices. Flashes of people shoving past me, a wave of bodies that prevents me from moving. All I can do is scream.

“Michael?! Michael!”

There are crying young women in parkas wrapping their arms around their husbands, each having the same buzz cut, the same uniform, and the same face of relief. I want this. Where is my soldier?

“Michael!”

I force my way through the crowd, standing on my toes to try to get a better view of the hundreds of faces. The train lets out a piercing squeal and slowly starts to chug away. ‘He must be here,’ I think frantically, my heart starting to race as more and more soldiers are claimed by their families. I start to turn and—

There. A tall man with short, sandy blonde hair and tan, muscular arms. ‘That’s him, that’s him!’ My heart leaps as I race forward with a renewed energy and shout his name. “Michael, my love!”

But, before I reach him, he starts to turn. I stop short and my spirits plummet. His face is not Michael’s. It was too serious and stoic. The deep frown curled on his lip wasn’t like my Michael’s relaxed and comfortable attitude.

“Beth, slow down!” a voice calls from behind. I slowly turn to find my brother rushing toward me, a concerned look on his face. Tears start to form under my eyes. “I can’t find Michael,” I whisper to him.

My brother wraps me in his arms and I start to cry in his shoulder. “Oh, Beth,” he mumbles. “Michael died in the war three months back. Don’t you remember?”