15
What I believed was a breather turned out to be just the calm before the storm.
Without warning, the shadow of war descended upon this quiet town beneath the snow–capped
mountains.
Gunfire became a daily backdrop, and the light in the children’s eyes was slowly replaced by fear
The orphanage’s food supply dwindled by the day.
Today, we finished the last bag of flour. The children looked at me, eyes wide with panic, little faces full of unease.
I couldn’t let them starve.
Taking a deep breath, I wrapped the only headscarf tightly, pulled the hat low over my eyes, and spoke calmly: “Stay in the basement, lock the door, and wait for me to return.”
“Teacher, it’s too dangerous outside…” a little boy whispered.
I forced a smile. “Don’t worry. I’ll be back soon with food.”
The gunfire outside was fiercer than yesterday. The air reeked of gunpowder and despair.
I darted between rubble like a rat, dodging shells that might fall at any moment.
Suddenly, a sharp whistling tore through the air above me-
A shell! My pupils contracted. My body froze. Even instinct failed me.
At that instant, a powerful force knocked me down.
“Boom–!!!”
The deafening blast rang in my ears. Debris rained down over my head.
Someone had shielded me.
The smell of blood mixed with gunpowder filled my nose. It was his blood.
Hands shaking, I pushed the person off me-
And stared into a face I could never forget.
Caleb, How could he be here?
His face was deathly pale, drenched in sweat, teeth clenched in pain.
Blood bloomed across his back, soaking through his torn clothes.
He’d saved me—but at what cost?
“Elena… it’s really you…” His voice was faint, a strange blend of disbelief, joy–and maybe… relief.
Expressionless, I stood up. My gaze swept over the loaf of bread and a small bag of flour scattered nearby.
I quickly gathered them in my arms–this food was life itself for the children.
“You…” Caleb struggled to speak, blood bubbling at the corner of his lips.
1 turned without a glance.
“Elena! Don’t go!” He cried, trying to rise, only to fall with a grunt of pain.
I didn’t stop.
He stumbled after me, bleeding with every step, leaving crimson spots behind. He trailed me all the way to the rickety door of the orphanage.
*Elena, please, let me explain…” He gasped, clinging to the doorframe for support.
I stopped and looked at him, cold and distant. “Sir, you’ve got the wrong person.” “No! I won’t believe that!” he shouted, eyes wild with desperation. Once a fearsome gang boss, now reduced to this broken figure.
“I searched for you for so long. The gangs fell apart, and I lost all desire for power. I wandered like a ghost–until I remembered your painting. You once said you loved this little town beneath the snowy peaks…”
“So I came here, searching like a madman. I never thought… I’d really find you. God helped me, Elena. He guided me to you.”
“I buried our child… over there, beneath the snow–capped mountain. I hope in the next life, he’ll still be ours…”
Child?
“Elena, I know I was wrong–I truly know!” he sobbed, shoulders shaking.
“It was all lies–Elena deceived me. I thought she was my savior. I was a fool! I’ve always loved you, from the beginning to the end.”
He suddenly knelt, forehead pressed against the cold, muddy ground.
Pain stabbed through my chest, like a thousand needles piercing at once. But my voice remained flat and cold: “Whoever saves your life, you love them? Caleb, your love is so shallow.”
“Maybe Elena started it, but weren’t you the one who did those things? Now you pin it all on a woman? Ha… I really didn’t misjudge you.”
“No, Elena, I know you loved me–you don’t get to leave me!”
‘I hurt you, so punish me! Drive me mad! Kill me! Just don’t abandon me…”
‘I can’t live without you,” he cried, trying to grab the hem of my coat. I stepped aside easily.
The ruthless, decisive Caleb–gone.
I looked at the wreck of him. My heart felt nothing–just a lifeless silence.
But he had saved me.
From my coat, I pulled out half a stale loaf of bread. I broke it and tossed it onto the dusty ground.
He stared at the bread, dazed. When he looked up, his face was streaked with tears, blood, and dirt–pitiful and broken.
“Elena…” he tried to speak.
I didn’t let him. I opened the orphanage door and stepped inside.
His desperate cries were shut out by the door.
“Teacher, who’s crying outside?” A little girl tugged at my coat, her dirty face upturned.
The children gathered, curiosity and concern in their eyes.
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3:42 pm
I touched her head, voice rasping: “Just an adult who did something wrong.”
“But if you do something wrong, you just fix it. Why cry so hard?” Another child asked, puzzled with innocence in her voice,
I looked out the window in the dark night. In the distance, the flickering firelight of explosions danced like ghost flames.
“Because when adults do wrong” I said softly, my voice barely my own, “wrong is wrong.”
“There’s no undoing it, and no second chance.
