I'm worried about him. Ever since returning from the war, it's like he is a different person to the one I loved before.
I found out that I was pregnant with twins the day I waved him off at the station. I was only seventeen then. I knew that I could lose him but still, morale was high and I was not going to let fear of the unknown envelop my thoughts.
I didn't hear from him for four months. I forbid thoughts of death to cross my mind. He was alive. He was going to come back to me. I knew it.
A few weeks later, newspapers were crammed with stories about how our men were retreating onto a French beach called Dunkirk. Luftwaffe's were ruling the skies, flying up and down, spraying our men with bullets. I was seven months pregnant and losing morale. Suddenly, Operation Dynamo happened. I believe it was a miracle. 750 brave little ships risking their lives to save our men.
I didn't know where my husband was. If he was dead or returning on one of the ships. All I knew was that I was going to love and look after my children well, single or not.
On 2nd June 1940, I had my twins. They were five weeks early but were perfect. As I was having them, a knock on the door made my heart skip a beat. Had he returned? Was he alive? Time froze.
A young man walked through my bedroom door, bloodstained, thin and weary. It was him.
He ran over to comfort me as salty droplets flowed down my face like soft summer rain.
"Told you I would come back," he said as I buried myself in his clothes. Pain and happiness were how I was feeling.
The twins were born soon after that. A girl and a boy. We named them Eva and George.
Every night from then until now I lie awake, watching him, waiting for the inevitable to happen. Just waiting for his terrified eyes to meet mine, waiting for him to mutter about guns and his brother and father departed. I would trace the faint white lines lining his back- new stories that I would never gather the courage to ask of.
It was killing me inside. He was different to the man I married. Awkward around the children, depressed and hearing sounds which weren't actually there. It was like I was looking after three children instead of two.
He has never got over his father and brother's death. Both killed on the beaches of Dunkirk by the same Luftwaffe.
"Blown to bits in front of my eyes," is the phrase he always repeats.
The twins are six now. It's 1946, exactly a year today for the end of the Second World War.
My husband and I are twenty- three now. You would think that we are extremely close. But I have never felt so far away from him. I wish we could go back in time to when our love had never been stronger.