Second Chance

As I stared at my reflection in the mirror, I couldn’t help but wonder how things could have turned out differently. Nervously I twisted the engagement ring around in my fingers, and wondered how I ended up in this position. The wedding dress so white and pure, emphasising my opposing characteristics. As I gently tugged the engagement ring away from my finger, a faint white mark circled the spot where a larger ring had once been for several years. As I stared at this section on my ring finger I began to lose track of time as my mind floated around into the past and into thoughts of my first husband. I closed my eyes and sighed quietly, forcing my thoughts into the here and now. I couldn’t start doubting my decision now, not after I had come this far.

In an attempt to calm myself I began to breathe slowly and deeply, concentrating on my breath going in and out. Though despite this effort I could still notice my hands nervously shaking as they rested intertwined in front of my stomach. Unable to look at my reflection any longer I turned away and began pacing the room frantically. My mind raced with thoughts: did I even love Timothy? Would I ever be able to love him? Was this my only option? Should I tell him my past?

Though all these thoughts were interrupted when Timothy’s sister entered the room carrying two glasses of champagne. Forcing a smile, I tried to hide all my previous worried emotions, pushing them deeper and deeper into my mind. Julie smiled warmly at me as she held out one of the glasses of champagne for me which I obligingly took.

“Cecilia, how are you feeling?” Julie asked, as she ran her fingers along my bare arm causing goose pimples too suddenly appear. My eyes then glanced over to Julie’s left hand and I noticed the huge diamond that rested delicately on her finger, yet all I could wonder was if she was truly happy.

“Fine,” I replied cautiously, trying to widen my smile and not let me true emotions leak through, “Well obviously I’m nervous, but I’m fine.”

“You look beautiful” She commented, smiling warmly before leaning in to embrace me, whispering into my ear, “I’m so glad you are marrying my brother, you’ll be a great wife and a great sister in law.”

As Julie left, I suddenly felt more at ease now I was left alone again to pace the room and not have to force and fake any feelings and emotions. Finding something to do to occupy my hands I raised the glass to my lips I took a slow sip of champagne, hoping the alcohol would calm me in any way yet my hand was shaking so violently I dropped the glass. Hitting the floor the glass dispersed into hundreds of pieces. Millions of shards. Like diamonds.

One beautiful diamond. Reflecting light from every angle. A delicate diamond placed on a silver band, so simple, so elegant and so perfect. Your eyes stared into mine, those familiar intense blue eyes, yet with an unfamiliar burst of hope, burning fiercely with anticipation. Silently you wait, all your hope resting on the next word to fall out my lips. Yes or no? One simple small word to change your future, our future, and to change everything. Eagerly I let the word spill out of my chest: yes, and I watched it hang there in the air as I now waited for your response. Your eyes then suddenly widened in disbelief and your smile spread wide, capturing what your eyes couldn’t quite believe: love. But I have to wonder if you can believe in love now? I loved you in that moment, that much I knew. I believed in love back then, but how much can you really believe in a person? The answer to that question, I have yet to figure out.

Moments before I was to walk down the aisle I remember picturing my perfect man. How I used to imagine myself with someone sensitive and caring, with a soft touch. A foreigner, a French man who was gentle and romantic and when he would come home from work he would walk through the door, a bottle of my favourite red in one arm. His body would be slim and slender, with his tall framework emphasising his fragility. Glasses would frame his delicate soft brown eyes, and his dark unkempt hair would fall into his eyes. In his spare time he would write poetry and paint beautiful pictures of quaint French villages.

Yet the man I was to marry and fell so deeply in love with, was you! A German, such a proud a patriotic German. You would come home after work and drink beer, dismissing my glass of wine as a ‘woman’s drink’. You stated proudly that Germany had everything a country could want, and was personally offended if you heard people criticise the nation. You had the body of a brute! But I loved your broad shoulders and how you would hold me in your tree trunk arms, making me feel secure and safe. Your piercing blue gaze was all I needed to look in to and nothing else around seemed to matter anymore. Though your hair was blonde and cut short and nothing how I imagined, I loved nothing more too absent-mindedly running my hands through it.

Then the wedding day finally came. I remember walking down the aisle, my eyes fixated on you whilst your gaze was fixed on me. The look in your eyes confessing to a complete sense of devotion and the nervous shake of your hands made me want to run forward to calm you. Then when I reached you it took all my self control not to kiss you.

“Cee, you look....” You began to speak but stumbled over your words, unable to condense your emotions into just one word, “perfect.” You finally settled on, smiling as your fingertips brushed a stray strand of hair behind my ear.

“Christoph,” I replied, unsure of what I wanted to say to him, “Thank you” I weakly finished with, knowing nothing I could say could ever sum up how much you meant to me.

After the wedding, we were perfect. I can never remember us arguing seriously, but we did disagree on things. You would always make fun of my friends to my irritation. You claimed them to be stereotypical women, girly and giggly with no sense. Which would usually lead to me claiming your friends to be all brutes with no feelings and yelling how next time they come round they can help themselves to their own beer. Yet a small smile from you and we would laugh, falling into each other’s arm. You would kiss me and tell me my friends were my friends, not his, so his opinions were irrelevant and they could come over anytime. Anytime when he was out the house.

But then we did start arguing. You believed it was right to stay true to Hitler, to listen to him. I could never work out if you really did believe him, or you were just scared. So we argued, you used to always tell me that I can’t go around speaking like that or I would get killed. I knew that scared you, I could hear the fear in your voice when you thought of what could happen to me. But I was never going to sit silently and succumb to these Nazi beliefs. Before we met I thought I was always afraid of dying, but if I was to have died then, I know that you would have been enough.

I remember the day you stood before me to say goodbye. Those eyes locked onto mine, those beautiful blue eyes that I had seen a million times before but never realised how many emotions they could convey. I wondered whether this was love. It felt right, but surely there has to be more to love than it simply feeling right. Your fingertips then gently brushed my cheek and you leaned forward to kiss me, your soft lips planting themselves on mine. Tender, passionate, meaningful. The perfect goodbye, a kiss confessing more secrets and emotions than clichéd words. The moment felt infinite. Then you pulled away. You pulled away from yourself, no longer the man I fell in love with. Yet I’ll never know if you were simply always that man.

A goodbye and you were gone. Off to war, to fight for your country, supporting your nation, the proud German soldier. I was to be proud of my brave soldier husband. But I could never understand what I was supposed to be proud of? Proud that you didn’t have beliefs of your own? Proud that you considered war the best option? Or just proud that you killed innocent men, women and even children? In my eyes you changed, you became your actions. You murdered and therefore to me when I lay in bed at night, all I could think was I was married to a murderer.

It was three am exactly; my bag was packed and lay neatly beside the door, whilst I paced frantically up and down the kitchen. I couldn’t even say goodbye to you. To have you kiss me one last time and feel your humane side again, if only for a moment. Instead I silently crept away into the night, leaving everything behind, but most importantly leaving you. When I left that night, I had to come to terms with the fact that I wouldn’t ever hear from you again. I would never even know if you had survived the war. If you died, I wouldn’t even be able to mourn for you. I met one man at the border, though his eyes were dark they also radiated warmth, he held a hand out to me silently. Carefully I placed my 300 deutsche marks into his large palm, whilst he in return handed me my new passport, my new birth certificate and my whole new identity. My new life. Then I successfully made my way to Amsterdam. Goodbye to Germany. Goodbye to you.

So again, I stood at the end of the aisle, ready to walk towards my love. Except he wasn’t my love. His glorifying green gaze just wasn’t that familiar intense blue. His courteous and gentle features were everything I had imagined in my perfect man, yet he lacked that harshness which I missed so much. Those soft eyes always felt seemingly misplaced as though I wasn’t what he wanted. Just like he wasn’t what I needed. He was never Christoph. So whilst Timothy was everything a woman could want in a man, gentle, sweet, considerate, understanding, he was just never enough. Nothing ever felt enough after Christoph.

Slowly, I began to walk towards my new husband, wondering if he was really happy. Noticing his hands shaking slightly, yet curiously I didn’t feel the need to run and comfort him. On reaching the altar I didn’t even think about kissing him.

“Cecilia, you look....” He began, yet instead of trying to find the ideal word, it felt as though he was trying to find the right word, “perfect”. He finally settled on, making me cringe inside and the use of my full name caused a feeling of nausea to twist around in my stomach.

“Perfect doesn’t exist.” I replied automatically, without realising how hurtful I may have sounded. Instantly feeling bad, I forced a smile and whispered, “But I know love does.”

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