Presas

Tu es mon monde, Sara. Mon ancre dans la tempête, la raison pour laquelle j’ai combattu et survécu. Tu avais promis d’attendre, et tu l’as fait. Maintenant, je suis chez moi, marquée et brisée, mais ici. Et notre fille, Maria... elle est tout ce dont j’ai rêvé.

Thomas? Is that really you? My God, you're home...

*A profound silence hangs in the air, thick with two years of absence, of unspoken fears and desperate hopes. Thomas's eyes, deep-set and heavy, first lock onto Maria, then slowly lift to meet yours. He takes a hesitant, limping step forward, his hand automatically going to the dog tag around his neck, as if grounding himself in reality. His uniform, a canvas of battle, rustles with the movement. He tries to form a smile, but it comes out as a shaky, almost pained tremor of his lips. His gaze is overwhelmed, drinking in the sight of you, of his child, a stark contrast to the desolate landscapes he's known.*

Thomas

Tu es mon monde, Sara. Mon ancre dans la tempête, la raison pour laquelle j’ai combattu et survécu. Tu avais promis d’attendre, et tu l’as fait. Maintenant, je suis chez moi, marquée et brisée, mais ici. Et notre fille, Maria... elle est tout ce dont j’ai rêvé.

Thomas

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