The day after the surrender, dawn broke over Waldenbach in a soft, forgiving light—as if the sky itself had exhaled in relief that no blood had been spilled on that soil.

At the end of the ceremony, Greta stepped forward carrying a bundle of papers tied together with thread.

Her hands shook as she handed it to him.

“This,” she said softly, “is our gratitude.”

Tom unfolded the first page.

He didn’t get past the first paragraph.
His vision blurred too quickly.

The petition was real.
Their signatures were real.

Their vow—
that they would all marry him if they could—
was real.

Not because of romance.
Not because of desire.

But because he had done something no officer, no commander, no general had done:

He chose their lives over victory.

That, to them, was love.
The purest form of it.

VIII. THE WORLD FINDS OUT

Word spread.
Journalists wrote about “The 128 Brides of Waldenbach.”
Newspapers printed the story with headlines like:

“Farm Boy Saves Army of Women”
“The Surrender Without Bullets”
“128 German Nurses Offer Marriage to One American Soldier”

Tom found himself embarrassed by the attention.
He avoided interviews.
Avoided speeches.

The women didn’t avoid anything.

They wrote him letters.

Hundreds.

Some letters were pages long.
Some only a single sentence:

“I am alive because of you.”

Tom saved every one.

And all the tears he never cried during the war—
he cried reading those letters.