What's Left?

Max walked slowly through the ruins of Berlin, the city he once knew now unrecognizable. The grand buildings, which had once stood as symbols of German pride, were now piles of rubble. The streets were deserted, filled only with the debris of what used to be a bustling, vibrant life. The weight of his return pressed down on him, making each step feel heavier.

Beside him, Eric limped along, his face hard as he took in the destruction. "Doesn't even look like the same place, does it?" Eric muttered, his voice thick with bitterness.

Max shook his head. "No, it doesn't. It feels like a different world."

They walked in silence for a while, the devastation around them speaking louder than any words could. Eventually, they reached the familiar street where Max's family lived. Or had lived. Max hesitated at the corner, the thought of what might be waiting for him too overwhelming.

Eric noticed and stopped. "You ready for this?" he asked quietly.

Max didn't answer right away. He looked at the building that used to be his home, now a shadow of its former self. The windows were broken, the walls cracked and worn. "I don't know if I'll ever be ready," Max admitted. "But I have to see them."

Eric nodded. "I'll come by later, see how you're doing."

Max forced a smile. "Thanks, Eric."

He walked up the steps to the door, each one feeling like a lead weight. When he finally knocked, the sound was almost hollow, like it didn't belong in this broken world. The door creaked open, and there stood Elsa, his wife, her face a mixture of shock and relief.

"Max…" she breathed, her voice trembling.

Max pulled her into a tight embrace, feeling her frail frame against him. She was thinner than he remembered, and there was a tiredness in her eyes that hadn't been there before. "I'm home," he said, the words feeling strange on his tongue.

Elsa stepped back, wiping tears from her eyes. "I didn't know if you'd make it back. I was so afraid…"

Max glanced inside the apartment. It was bare, stripped of the warmth it once held. The furniture was sparse, the walls bare, and everything seemed smaller, as if the space had shrunk with the hardships they'd faced.

"Come inside," Elsa urged, pulling him in. "The children… they've been waiting for you."

Max entered the small living room where his two children, Lena and Franz, sat quietly. They were much older than he remembered, the war having aged them in ways no child should experience. Lena, the older of the two, stood up, her eyes wide as she approached him.

"Papa?" she asked hesitantly, as if afraid he wasn't real.

Max knelt down, opening his arms. "It's me, Lena."

She rushed into his embrace, followed by Franz, who clung to his father's leg. Max held them both, the reality of his return hitting him hard. This wasn't the reunion he had pictured. The war had taken so much from them all.

As they sat down to a simple meal, Max noticed Elsa's hands shaking as she served the food. The portions were small, and the bread was stale, but no one complained. They ate in near silence, the only sounds the clinking of cutlery and the occasional cough from Franz.

"How… how have you been managing?" Max finally asked, his voice strained.

Elsa sighed, her shoulders slumping. "It's been hard, Max. The rationing, the inflation… everything is so expensive now, if you can even find it. And the children… they've had to grow up so fast."

Max looked at Lena and Franz, who were watching him with a mixture of curiosity and sadness. He realized they had changed in ways he couldn't yet understand. "I'm sorry I wasn't here," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"It's not your fault," Elsa said quickly. "You were doing what you had to do. We… we survived. That's what matters."

Max wanted to believe her, but the weight of everything they had lost was too heavy. The family he had left behind was gone, replaced by something else, something fragile and uncertain.

Later that evening, after the children had gone to bed, Max and Elsa sat in the dimly lit living room. The silence between them was heavy, filled with all the words they couldn't bring themselves to say.

"How do we move on from this?" Max asked, breaking the silence.

Elsa looked down at her hands, her fingers twisting together. "I don't know. We just… keep going, I suppose. There's no other choice."

Max nodded, though he didn't feel reassured. "I ran into some of the men from my unit on the way here. They're struggling too. People don't look at us the same way anymore. It's like… we're the ones to blame."

Elsa's eyes filled with tears. "I've heard the whispers, seen the looks. It's like they think we're responsible for all of this. As if we didn't all suffer enough."

Max reached out and took her hand. "We'll get through this, somehow."

The next day, Eric came by as promised. He and Max walked through the streets, now filled with signs of the brewing unrest. There were groups of people huddled together, talking in hushed tones, and soldiers like Max and Eric were met with suspicious glares.

"They don't see us as heroes anymore," Eric said bitterly. "We're the ones who lost the war, in their eyes."

Max frowned. "We fought for them. For our families, our country. How did it end up like this?"

Eric shrugged. "People need someone to blame. It's easier to point fingers at us than to face the real problems."

They passed a group of men shouting angrily about the Treaty of Versailles, blaming it for the country's downfall. The anger in the air was palpable, and Max could feel it weighing down on him.

"It's all falling apart," Max said, his voice filled with despair.

Eric nodded. "And there's nothing we can do to stop it."

As the days passed, Max tried to adjust to life at home, but nothing felt the same. The city was teetering on the edge, and the sense of betrayal he felt from his fellow countrymen was crushing. Everywhere he went, there were reminders of how much had been lost, and the hope he had once felt was nowhere to be found.

One evening, as they sat together after another meager meal, Lena asked, "Papa, why is everyone so angry?"

Max exchanged a glance with Elsa, struggling to find the right words. "People are upset because things didn't turn out the way they hoped," he said carefully. "They're scared, and sometimes when people are scared, they get angry."

"But why are they angry at you?" Franz asked, his young face confused.

Max sighed deeply. "Because… because they need someone to blame. And sometimes, it's easier to blame the people who were closest to the fight."

Lena's eyes were filled with worry. "Will things ever get better?"

Max didn't know how to answer. He wanted to tell her yes, that everything would be fine, but he couldn't lie to her. "I hope so," he said finally. "We just have to keep trying."

That night, as Max lay in bed next to Elsa, he stared at the ceiling, unable to sleep. The weight of everything his family's suffering, the country's collapse, the sense of betrayal pressed down on him, making it hard to breathe.

"We'll find a way through this," Elsa whispered, sensing his turmoil.

Max turned to her, his voice hollow. "But what if there isn't a way? What if this is all there is now?"

Elsa's eyes were filled with tears, but she held his gaze. "We survived the war, Max. We'll survive this too. We have to."

Max nodded, though doubt gnawed at him. The war had changed everything, and the world he had returned to was one he barely recognized. But he knew Elsa was right they had to keep going, no matter how difficult the road ahead.

As he closed his eyes, Max thought of the men he had fought with, the comrades who were now scattered across a broken nation. They had all sacrificed so much, and for what? The sense of loss was overwhelming, but Max knew he couldn't give in to it. He had a family to protect, a life to rebuild, and a future that, despite everything, he had to believe in.

Berlin was a city in ruins, and so was Max's spirit. But as long as he had his family, there was still a reason to keep fighting this time, not for a country, but for the people who mattered most to him.