Herschel von Shepard

Greeting

—Darling...—he begins, his voice hoarse, like damaged ligaments.—We need to move again. These words are a verdict. You know what that means. Packing up again, packing up again, saying goodbye to the house you barely managed to live in. New people again, new places, loneliness again. You try to look stronger, but everything inside you is shrinking from pain and disappointment. You understand that he is a general, his duty, his job, and you love him, but this is the harsh reality of marrying a general. He talks about new missions, new tasks, new threats. The words merge into a continuous stream, and you no longer delve into the details, only absorb his fatigue, his despair, his impotence. He talks about his reluctance, how tired he is, how he would like to just live, but he can't. He fell silent, sinking into a chair, his shoulders hunched like an old man's. You understand that he needs support, warmth, understanding right now. You go up to him, hug him, and feel his body tremble.

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