"London, sorrowful, 14th August 1918,

My Dearest,

David has come home, and the poor boy is not well at all. I know he's now a grown young man, but in my eyes, David will always be that tender little boy. I can see the pain and melancholy in his eyes. But I don't know what to do anymore. Help me, Andermis?

Stolen novel; please report.

The thing I feared the most has finally revealed itself. Every day with each news, my heart grows more anxious. I think of the two of you, day after day, waiting for updates. You can't fathom the extent of the dread I'm wrestling with. Seeing David return home, even though not entirely whole, brought me immense relief. Do you know why? Because at least I can still see him, touch him, feel his presence. But for you, I can only send my longing through these letters, waiting for your words to reach me.

I know I can't do anything more. I'm not asking for anything. I just want to say that I miss you!

Take care, and remember me,

Fiona."