Life is great

Ana opened the old notebook she found among her husband’s things. It was the older one of the eighteen notebooks handwritten he had kept carefully during all those years. Tight lines of his neat handwriting in faded blue ink were waiting for the rightful reader. He made it very clear that no one should read them before his death. Now was the time. After 56 years of marriage, she was mourning. He had left us quietly and peacefully. Like he had lived.
It was a diary, Ana knew it. It was about the hard years when he had to live an adventurous life as a prisoner, refugee and exiled, wandering across several countries, separated from his family. Everybody thought that in those diaries he, who was a good writer, had told the story of his adventures during the WWII and what happened after. We knew he had been sentenced to…

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