September 8, 1945

I have awoken from a 9 week coma only to realize that this travesty know as war was over. I only know this because a kind American soldier entered my room today and told me so. He looked to be my age, maybe a little older. He saw that I did not have a plentiful meal in a while, and gladly gave me his chocolate bar. The flavor of chocolate was overwhleming to someone who had been only eating replusive soup and filthy water for four years.

Overcoming my sensory overload, I told the soldier that I was looking for someone. When he asked for a description of the person in question and name, I told him that her name was Sophia and gave him the last photograph I had of my beloved. The soldier gave me a smile and told me that all the rescured were listed by camp on a master list. I gathered the strength needed to glance over the master list.

I was shocked to see Sophia's name under the list of liberated from Auschwitz. I thought that it was impossible, since she would've been killed off before she would be free. I hope all is well with Sophia.

September 17, 1945

The soldier has not had any luck finding her yet, so I decided that I would look for her on my own. I believed that my details were too obscure, even with a photograph of her. If anyone should look for her or anything she might've left for me, it should be the one who loved her the most. 

September 18, 1945

Today, I did something that most people would'nt do on a regular basis, visiting a fortune teller. I know that it would not be wise to consult with them, but when you have no leads, who else do you turn to? The woman told me that something tragic happened to my beloved and that Sophia left something for me. I thanked the woman for her time and left. I hope Sophia will live to see our wedding day. 

September 24, 1945

I had arrived at once was the most dreaded place on Earth. Instead of the gastly brick tubes billowing remants of many, it was nothing but a worthless pile of debris. As I set foot into the camp, a friendly worker approached me, asking if he could be of service to me. I asked if there was a Sophia Wilhelm in thier care.

The worker lowered his head in a mix of sorrow and shame, "I'm sorry, but she didn't make it." he said. I asked him what had happened, and he told me that Sophia had passed away before they could give her proper medical treatment. At that moment, I felt that this worker had taken a sledgehammer to my heart. The doctor told me that she left me something.

I unfolded the piece of paper that he had given me. It was a letter addressed to me, telling me how much she loved me and it wouldn't matter if she surivied, that she would love me the same as in life. Sophia, if you can hear me, I love you too and I will see you again in God's Kingdom someday.