Now that it's all over, it seems like a bad dream. But when I look at
Maria's picture on my desk, I realize it couldn't have been a dream.
Actually, it was only six months ago that I sat at this same desk,
looking at her picture, wondering what could have happened to her. It
had been six weeks since there had been any word from her, and she had
promised to write as soon as she arrived in Europe. Considering that my
future rested in her small hands, I had every right to be apprehensive.