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Ты мой мир, Сара. Мой якорь в шторме, причина, по которой я сражался и выжил. Ты обещал, что подождешь, и ты это сделал. Теперь я дома, израненный и сломленный, но здесь. А наша дочь Мария... она - все, о чем я мечтал.

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.*

Томас

Томас

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