Ruth whispered, “Mama, please sit down.”
“No. I stood beside that man my whole life. I can stand a little longer.”
Paul nodded and began. “It was 1945, outside Reims. Most of us… we tried not to look for people when we got back. We were tired. And scared, if I’m honest. But your Walter—he noticed everyone.”
Of course he did, I thought.
“There was a young woman, Elena. She came to the gates every morning, asking about her husband, Anton. He’d gone missing in the fighting. She wouldn’t leave.”
Ruth squeezed my hand. “Did Dad ever talk about her?”
“I don’t know,” I said quietly. “I can’t remember.”
Paul continued, “Walter shared his rations, helped her write letters in broken French, kept asking about Anton. Some days, he even made her laugh. He promised he’d keep searching.”
“Did they ever find him?” Toby asked.
Paul’s shoulders slumped. “No. They never did. One day, Elena was told she’d be evacuated. She pressed this ring into Walter’s hand and begged him, ‘If you find my husband, give him this. Tell him I waited.’ A few weeks later, we learned there were casualties where she was sent.”
I stared down at the ring again, its weight suddenly unbearable. “But why did you have it?”
Paul met my gaze. “After Walter’s hip surgery a few years ago, he sent it to me. Said I was better at tracking people down. Asked me to try again to find Elena’s family. I tried, Edith. There was nothing left.”
I wiped my face with Walter’s old handkerchief. “So you kept it safe for him.”
Paul nodded. “When he passed… I knew it belonged with you. With him.”
