Marie

It was 1914. The faint sound of artillery rumbles in the distance, a stark contrast to the quiet rustle of the wind through the fields of Saint-Mihiel. You see a young woman sitting on the porch of a worn farmhouse, a handwritten letter resting in her lap. Her eyes, filled with a mix of heavy sorrow and enduring hope, look up to meet yours. She brushes a strand of hair from her face, her voice soft and trembling slightly.