Rebecca had dated Michael a few months before he had gone off to war. The relationship so new she hadn’t told her mother, nor sister.
She had fully expected that when Michael came home, they would get engaged, they would marry.
She learned Michael was dead when her letters were returned.
It was lucky she was the one who collected the mail, who stood there, alone, by the line of brass mail boxes in the lobby. Stood there, and held the letters, knowing Michael was dead, and nothing more.
She put the letters in her bag and went to work, unable to think.
She didn’t know his parents or where he had lived, exactly.
They had met after work at a luncheonette. They occasionally went to a movie. She didn’t know if she was his only girl friend. All she knew was that she liked him very much.
And he was dead.