The Long Way Home

Before the war, Leghia was a quiet village nestled among hills and forests, where life moved with the rhythm of seasons. Csaba’s great-grandfather was a young man then—strong, curious, and full of dreams. But those dreams were interrupted when the world was torn apart by the Second World War. He was sent to the front, far from home, where the days were filled with gunfire, fear, and the constant shadow of death. Among the soldiers was another young man from Leghia, a childhood friend. Together, they endured the chaos, but as the war dragged on, they made a decision: they would escape. Not to fight. Not to hide. But to return home. One night, under the cover of darkness, they slipped away. With no maps, no food, and no certainty, they headed toward the forests they knew as boys. The trees became their shelter, the stars their compass. They walked for days, avoiding roads and patrols, drinking water from the footprints of deer pressed into the earth. Their journey was desperate, but fate was kind. Near the edge of the forest, they met a shepherd tending his flock. The shepherd listened to their story and promised to help. That evening, he returned to Leghia and found Csaba’s great-grandmother. Quietly, he told her, “Your husband is alive. He’s hiding in the forest. If you can, bring him something to eat.” The next morning, she prepared a basket—bread, cheese, and dried apples wrapped in cloth—and walked to the place the shepherd had described. She left the food beneath a tree, the one they used to climb as children, and whispered a prayer. Eventually, the two men emerged from the forest, gaunt but alive. They had returned not as soldiers, but as survivors. The village welcomed them with quiet tears and warm embraces. The war would rage on, but for them, the battle was over. Years passed. The story of their escape became part of family memory, told in hushed tones around the fire. And then, decades later, Csaba found something hidden away—a dagger. Worn, but still sharp. It had belonged to his great-grandfather, carried through the war and the forest, a silent witness to his journey home. Holding it, Csaba felt the weight of history—not just the metal, but the courage, the love, and the legacy of survival. The dagger was more than a relic. It was a reminder that even in the darkest times, the will to return home can light the way.