I was married to my husband for 72 years—at his funeral, one of his fellow service members handed me a small box, and what I found inside left me speechless

gone missing in all the fighting. She just wouldn’t leave.”

Ruth squeezed my hand. “Did Dad ever talk about her?”

“I don’t know,” I said, studying Paul. “I can’t remember.”

Paul nodded. “He shared his rations, helped her write letters in broken French, and kept asking after Anton. Some days, Walter could even get her to laugh.continue reading …