identity | reus + lewandowski

I couldn't recognize the man that stood before me; nothing made any sense. Slowly, I opened my mouth to speak, but the words simply refused to leave my lips. Finally, I just choked out a sob and pressed my hands to my eyes, quickly wiping them before I stared at him.

"Robert, what happened to you?"

The Pole grabbed me and pulled me into a one-armed hug, as his other was in a cast. There were purple and blue bruises almost all over his face, a few stitches here and there, and a bandage that sat across his forehead; I wouldn't dare ask what lay underneath.

He let me go and I stepped back, placing my head in my hands. This couldn't have been real, I thought. It'd been a year since Robert and I last saw each other, and a part of me was just so certain that I would never see him again. But there he was, before me, looking like death itself—a handsome form of it—and I didn't know what to do.

Thomas squeezed through the two of us—Marco and I, that is—and hugged his father with so much force that Robert stumbled back a few steps. I turned to Marco as Robert and his son reunited with one another, my eyes clouded with confusion and hurt from seeing Robert so torn and a million more emotions that I couldn't begin to describe. "Did you know about this, Marco?"

"About what?"

I clenched my jaw. Marco looked unamused with the whole situation, as though he knew it was going to happen. "Have you been talking to Robert this whole time?"

"Well..." Marco paused. "Of course."

I felt my heart flip as I squinted my eyes and raised my voice. "You've been talking to Robert this whole time while I suffered here, not knowing whether or not he was dead or alive? While I cried myself to sleep every night?!"

"Margaret, how was I supposed to know that you wanted to send a letter to Robert? You never told me! Why don't you acknowledge the fact that—"

"You guys." Robert finally spoke, his voice nowhere near as charming as it once was. It was coarse and rough, and maybe that's what war did to you. "I've seen enough fighting this past year, and the last thing I need is to come home to the people who matter the most to me and see more of it."

I turned to Robert, still frowning. "Robert...how could you not send me anything? Any letters?"

Robert frowned. "What are you talking about, Margaret? I wrote to you almost every day. And when there was no response, I figured you'd moved on. I thought—" Robert paused, closed his eyes, and drew in a shaky breath. "I thought that you'd stopped loving me."

Marco frowned as I turned to face him. "Did you sabotage Robert?"

"What? No, of course not! Margaret, you know that I would never—"

"So what, the letters just disappeared into thin air?"

"You guys, please." Robert's eyes, filled with sorrow, begged as he looked between Marco and I. "I can't stand to see you both so unhappy. I know that Marco didn't sabotage the letters, especially not out of jealousy, because he would do anything to see you happy, Margaret." Robert's face softened a little. I observed it, feeling my throat swell. He looked in pain, and I simply couldn't imagine what might've happened to him to cause all of those scars and bruises to form. I didn't want to, truthfully. I didn't want to know what he'd endured.

Marco's face twisted with the realization. "It was Elisabeth," He muttered, suddenly. "Miststück. How could I be so foolish? She was always reading letters. I thought they were from her friends. Maybe even a lover, I didn't care. I just—" Marco paused, face palmed himself, and stared at me, apologetically. "Margaret, I'm so sorry. This is all my fault...and I've let you down once again."

I could only blink.

"Marco," Robert stared at the blonde German, muttering as though I couldn't or wasn't supposed to hear him. "I thought we had that under control."

We. Slowly, I felt my body rack with realization; Robert and Marco had been scheming for Elisabeth's impending demise all along. I dropped Robert's hand and stepped back, watching him look down at me with an expression of sad confusion. "Margaret—"

"—What did you put in those letters?" I spoke, stoically.

Robert shoved his hand in his pocket, his expression turning slightly embarrassed. "I just wrote about how things were going, Margaret. That's all."

"But you addressed me as Margaret, didn't you? So that, if anyone had them and tried to locate me, they wouldn't be able to. Because that identity of mine no longer exists." I spoke, my voice laced with hope.

Robert cursed. The answer was a no. Silence fell upon the three of us, because no one knew who on earth now held those letters. I was willing to bet on Marielle, who, even when we were childhood friends, was a big gossip.

I turned around and felt my shoulders rack with sobs, which was, for a moment, the only sound in the entire house. Robert placed his hand on my shoulder, to which I pushed off of me before I turned around and hissed. "How could you be so stupid, Robert? What are you doing here, anyways? What made you finally decide you would prove your existence to me?"

I knew that my quick outburst had hurt him, as I could see it in his eyes, but I was so upset that I didn't want to take it back. Anyone could have those letters. And not only had Marco done the dirty work in getting rid of Elisabeth, but so had Robert; they'd connived with one another to do something so terrible even I wouldn't wish it upon my worst enemies.

Robert sat down and winced more, this time out of physical pain, before holding his crippled arm in his able one and speaking. "There was a bomb. I'm lucky to have survived. Everyone else was killed, and I, as you can see, am severely damaged. I'm just no longer the man I once was. I'm not good looking, I'm not able-bodied...and I can no longer fight in the war, so I was sent home. Only now, there is no home. Home is just wherever you are, Margaret, and I know I look like the image of death...but I'm praying that you can find it in your heart to still love me as I love you."

And, before I could open my mouth to respond, another knock sounded, this time much more rough and blunt. I drew in a breath of surprise and instantly began to panic as Marco ran to the peephole to look and see who our unexpected visitor was, and instantly more strings of profanity left his lips as he turned and loudly whispered to me. "Hide!"

The moment I disappeared up the stairs to grab Thomas, I could hear the door forced open. I kissed a still-sleeping Chris—in case I never saw him again, and this really was the moment which I'd been fearing my entire life—and took Thomas' hand in mine, rushing to the best spot I could think of for us to hide. The officer was so loud that even I could hear him from my place upstairs as he spoke, sending chills through my body. "We're here with speculation of you hiding, and housing, a Jew."