Time as the Last Hope

That morning, on his way from the bus stop to work, he didn’t know she was moving toward him from the train station, unhurried.

They crossed paths in the crowd, only a few meters apart, unaware of how close they had been.

She was his only hope after everything that had happened.

Work helped him stop thinking — about her, about his son, about things he couldn’t change.

People say you can watch water flow and fire burn forever.

But any woodworker knows it doesn’t compare to watching the shavings curl from the wood — warm and golden — as the craftsman slowly frees the shape he is making.

There was something childlike in it as well.

The way the shape emerged from the wood reminded him of the story of Pinocchio — of that belief that something wooden could come alive.

Outside, the world seemed to move the other way. What was once alive grew stiff and hard, losing its voice. Yet here, things still felt real.

That was why he liked this furniture workshop. Besides assembling standard panels, they still had orders that required real handwork with wood. This place eased the tension inside him — the kind that never fully disappeared.

“Hey, Mark, I’m calling it a day. Are you staying?” he asked.

The workshop smelled of wood and glue.

“Yeah. I need to prepare a few things for tomorrow’s orders — a military office is getting furniture from us. You know the boss isn’t happy if we’re behind schedule. But you can go, I’m fine.”

“Hmm. Maybe he should come down and help himself, huh?” Peter smiled.

“He’s the one securing government contracts for us. So we’re better off than most. Nothing to complain about, right?”

“All of us could be better off,” Peter said quietly, “if the people at the top were smarter — and less greedy.”

Mark shook his head. “Pretend I never heard that,” he said, forcing a smile.

“Don’t worry. Point taken. And thanks. See you in the morning.”

Peter took his jacket, walked through the passage to the shop with its spacious showroom, said goodbye to the shop assistant, and stepped outside.

The stale air and the usual noise settled around him.

He put his hands in his pockets and felt a patch on his finger. Each time he remembered that conversation, he hurt himself in the same way. Years had passed, but that moment kept nagging at him.

It was still bright, and he was looking forward to a quiet evening alone. The place was not the city center, but the buzz was always there — people getting back from work, all kinds of transport moving along the street.

The only thing that never changed was the slogan hanging high above, covering the side of a distant building. It had been there for months. He could no longer remember when it had first appeared.

The sky was filled with lazily drifting clouds, with occasional patches of blue.

It was almost the same sky — the very same one he had seen years ago, when his platoon had been dropped onto the battlefield. His first time under fire.

Peter remembered it as if it were happening now.

His hands tensed, ready to grab his gun.

Five soldiers were killed there, but the mission was accomplished. Most of them were rookies. The price of war was always too high.

Those who survived rarely kept in touch — except for those who had enjoyed the war itself.

Peter remembered his sergeant — always cheerful on the surface, yet cruel and cynical in every sense. He loved to fight, to cause pain — no matter to whom. There were many of that kind.

But enough.

He pushed the memories aside, and headed to the bus stop.

His phone rang on the way. Peter pressed the button.

“Hey, Dad! Anna is inviting you tomorrow. Remember?”

Peter did. He sighed.

“Well… I almost forgot. We’re understaffed and everything, you know. But… I’ll make it.”

The uneasy feeling came back. Could he change anything this time?

“Great! How was your day?” Yan, his son, tried to sound polite.

“Nothing special. But working with wood is always good. Nice rhyme, by the way,” he smiled to himself. “And you? Did you get a new posting?”

“Not yet. But there are some rumors going around. We can talk in private. I don’t want to spill anything over the phone.” His son sounded cheerful rather than anxious.

“Alright. Take care, then.”

The last thing he wanted was for his son to enter a military academy.

What saddened him most was how they grew distant from each other, year after year.

Peter remembered meeting Mark and Frank after demobilization — a cheap café, simple words, and a quiet toast: “Never again.”

People on the bus behaved as if life hadn’t changed. Some even smiled, pointing at the advertising leaflets stuck above the windows, calling for national unity, civic duty, or service in the special forces.

Three girls — they looked like high school students — were eagerly discussing an invitation to join military medical training.

Whether they were patriots, tempted by the promised compensation, or simply wanted to help did not really matter.

All the best intentions and all the worst impulses would be digested by national interests all the same.

The phone vibrated.

Who could it be, he wondered.

“Hey, Pit. I’m in the city. Any chance 2 meet?”

[address]

He doubted it was safe this time — for either of them.

Alex was active, outspoken, and had already been under investigation for his views.

But… Peter got off at the nearest stop and took a taxi.

They hugged warmly at the entrance, and Alex pointed to the table.

“You know Lina has arrived, right?” he asked.

Peter felt a hollow ache.

“Sure?”

“Of course. I spotted your kids at the Square earlier. She never called?”

“Maybe she wanted to visit Yan first,” Peter offered the best explanation he could.

Alex smiled faintly.

“Yeah, buddy. We’re old news to them.”

“It’s all my fault,” Peter sighed. “Lina seems to be getting distant. If Kate were here… She always knew how to reach the kids.”

“Yeah. She was the heart of every gathering. And she was so happy close to you.”

“I can’t help thinking about her,” Peter said quietly. “We couldn’t change Yan, but we still might have saved Lina from all this. Can I do it alone?”

They both noticed two police officers passing by the restaurant, scanning the street with suspicious glances.

Alex leaned closer.

“That’s all we have left,” he said softly. “At least try to get her out. For her own sake.”

“But Yan? And Anna? There has to be hope.”

Peter let the words hang in the air, not quite believing them himself.

He arrived home in heavy thoughts.

Where was the country he had grown up in?

Where were the people he used to meet every day?

Some had made their choice.

Others had stayed silent.

Some had even welcomed the changes.

And his friends?

There had been so many of them just a few years ago.

Now there was almost no one left.

Not even his own children to talk to honestly.

Sitting on the sofa, holding their wedding photo, Peter smiled — almost sadly — at his memories. Yan’s birth. Their parents’ joy at becoming grandparents. None of them were still alive now. At least they did not have to see what the world had become.

Yan had been so excited when his sister was born. They grew close, and everything felt right then. Kate once said, before the wedding, that she had always dreamed of having a boy and a girl. They were her special love. She had a way with them.

Then adolescence came, and things began to shift. Yan started talking about a military academy — almost obsessively. He trained, read, argued. There were conflicts, but small ones, the kind parents still believe can be talked through.

Yet after school, to everyone’s surprise, he chose engineering instead.

Soon after they even traveled abroad together.

It was the best time of Peter’s life. The sea, long walks, board games in the evenings, reading favorite books to one another. Away from the noise, away from slogans, it almost felt as if the children had understood — as if they had agreed, not with words, but with something deeper.

The country was changing too, though more slowly at first. Pride grew louder. The talk of strength, of being better than everyone else, settled into everyday life.

One day Yan came home and said he was enrolling in a military academy.

Later, he signed a contract. That was the moment everything shifted.

In other times, returning to the army would not have felt so final. But these were not those times. The same country, almost the same leaders — yet it was no longer the same place.

Kate, usually calm, turned to him. Her voice broke.

“Is this really who you want to become?”

“Is this how you’ve decided to ruin our lives?”

Yan could not bear it. Peter saw Kate regret her words instantly. He felt the same fear, the same anger — but he stayed silent. Yan said too much and stormed out.

That conversation became one of Peter’s recurring nightmares. All hope, all the life they had lived, suddenly felt in vain.

Kate knew she had been right. Yet she tried to rebuild bridges. She apologized. But it was already clear that nothing would work.

She was ill by then, and the disease progressed quickly.

Yet after a while Yan introduced Anna, his fiancée. She was pretty, seemed thoughtful — the kind of person you immediately want to trust. Both Kate and Peter felt a cautious hope return. Maybe she could soften him. Maybe she could hold him back.

But after the wedding, and in the months that followed, it became clear there would be no distance between them. Anna stood firmly by her husband’s side, without hesitation, without doubt.

Kate was hospitalized.

The children tried to visit more often, but Yan grew harder. Sometimes he looked at his parents not as a son, but as a police officer.

Peter sighed and turned on the news almost automatically, as if trying to distract himself from his thoughts.

“Our army has been increased by fifty percent and will continue to grow to deter our enemies. Provocations on the border are happening more and more often. We have to remember that our citizens abroad are our blood, and we should protect them,” the announcer said in a steady voice.

Peter switched the channel.

“In several cities and towns, unreliable citizens staged demonstrations over low salaries, failing to understand the difficult times we are living through and the sacrifices made by the government. Provoked by enemy agents, they became aggressive and were stopped by the police. Most were released. About a thousand were detained.”

He hoped for better news. Where on Earth to find them? He had no idea.

“A regional administration has proposed a bill to revise the constitution and allow militia forces to detain anyone deemed suspicious. The proposal will be reviewed tomorrow.”

Another piece of ‘good’ news followed. The upper limit for military service had been raised only to forty-five, not higher, as previously discussed.

Peter hummed. He was older. But he wouldn’t be surprised if the idiots in the government raised it to eighty years after a while.

“Next, details of a draft law on restrictions on certain forms of communication and border crossings.”

He knew that most of society would welcome such news. The tension of the first years, when these changes had begun, had faded. In its place came something else — a calm acceptance, emptying the space where sincerity had once lived.

His phone rang.

“Hi, Daddy,” Lina’s voice sounded warm, as always. “I arrived this morning. I didn’t want to bother you at work. I’m at Yan’s place.”

She hesitated, as if weighing her words — or listening to someone nearby.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he replied.

“We’ve had a nice time with Yan and Anna. I’ll be happy to see you tomorrow. I brought something for you.”

“Sounds good,” he almost smiled. “Maybe we can plan another trip abroad during the holidays?”

There was a pause.

“Oh… well, maybe,” she said. “But… you know how busy I am now.”

She was the same.

And different.

That was what he had been afraid of.

“Let’s meet and talk. I’ll be happy to see you, Dad.”

“I’ll be happy to see you too,” he said. “Bye.”

After the call ended, the silence felt heavier than before.

How could they breathe this air?

How could they sound so calm, even happy, at a time like this?

No answers. Those conversations had lasted for years and had been in vain.

The same dream came to him as many times before, each time with a different variation. The argument with Yan. Kate’s words. His son shouting. And then he was in her hospital room, watching her grow weaker and weaker.

“Make sure you take the kids out of here,” her words stayed with him. He held her hand tenderly.

“But how can I? Yan is intoxicated with power. I have no authority over him.”

“I know,” she said, tears in her eyes.

“Promise me you’ll try. Promise me you’ll save yourself. I’ve had such bad dreams.”

Tears rolled down her cheeks. Kate started coughing heavily. Her pulse went up. Medical assistants rushed into the room and forced him out.

He didn’t promise.

It was too late.

“Kate,” he repeated again and again.

New morning.

The pillow was hot and wet with tears.

He knew he had to try.

Not as a father who once gave orders and was obeyed.

But as a bearer of their family — and its memory.

Their ancestors would never have approved of playing with violence.

His manager accepted his request to leave early that day, and by evening Peter was standing at the door of his son’s apartment, holding gifts.

Anna opened. She greeted him gently.

Then Yan and Lina hugged him, offering the usual kind words.

It was Independence Day and, by coincidence, the date when Peter had once received his military award, and they had insisted on celebrating it. Years ago, it had felt empty but harmless. This year, not showing up could cost more.

“Welcome our hero!” they cheered.

“No, no,” Peter said, trying to sound modest. “It was all exaggerated.”

They kept to safe conversation, remembering earlier years. Lina gave him a box of foreign chocolate and a warm, well-made jacket — things she could afford thanks to her benefits of living in the capital.

“What about my suggestion from yesterday?” Peter asked, trying to sound casual. “A short trip abroad. Just for a while. A couple of years ago it wasn’t a problem.”

Lina sighed.

“Dad, we love you. We really do. And we remember mom’s plans.”

She hesitated.

“But why don’t you just enjoy being here? I was on an official trip a few months ago. There’s nothing there. And here we can have everything.”

Peter felt distant. He tried to remind them about their memories and plans to travel the world...

They returned to safer topics — until Anna spoke again.

“I’ve heard about those demonstrations,” she said. “Why are people so stupid?”

“Well,” Peter replied carefully, “people might be upset about being underpaid.”

The three of them exchanged a look.

“They shouldn’t have said those things out loud,” Lina stepped in. “The nation has to be united.”

Peter felt tension rising inside.

“By the way, Dad,” Yan said, taking over, “you were right. I received my posting today.”

He paused, then added almost casually, “I’ll be commanding troops at the border. And further, if needed.”

Peter flinched, then said quietly, “They were our friends not so long ago.”

“Don’t you listen to the news?” Anna replied. “They execute us. They celebrate our weaknesses.”

“Which weaknesses?” Yan said sharply, instantly turning to his wife. “We don’t have any.”

Anna flushed. “I meant… their misconceptions.”

“How did you become so certain, my son?” Peter asked.

“You taught us that.”

“No,” Peter said quietly. “I didn’t. Everyone has weaknesses. They do too. That alone doesn’t make them enemies.”

“But they are,” Lina said naturally. “Stop being so naive, Dad. It’s time to admit the truth.”

She looked at her father with an expression he did not recognize.

“And I’m starting special training next month. The best of us in the department are being selected.”

Peter felt his chest tighten.

“What?” His voice broke.

He paused.

“Alright,” he said softly, as if the word could still protect something.

Later, when he stepped outside under the star-filled sky, Peter felt hollow.

Everything was ready long ago — savings collected over many years, enough for four of them, documents, some simple belongings.

He knew the risks.

If he insisted or tried to fight here, the children would only grow more distant. Time was the only remaining hope for change. If they all survived.

He called Alex and spoke the code they had agreed on. He would be alone.

A tired voice on the other end said that the safe flight would be only the next afternoon.

The next day he took a day off, saying he was sick. Peter entered the airport. Thanks to his friend, he knew exactly where he was going.

What he did not know was that Lina had shortened her stay because of an urgent call. She arrived at the same airport.

They never saw each other again, though they were close.

And as her plane was climbing, heading back to the capital, Peter’s was set on the opposite course - toward the border and out of the country.

As the plane took off, he felt empty inside.

A tear rolled down his cheek.

He never gave the promise.

But he fulfilled it.

For Kate.

And, he still believed, for the children.