The knight was beautiful, handsome when he smiled. He didn’t want anyone to see it. He didn’t want to acknowledge it himself. But for a brief moment, I saw him. The real man inside of him, not the one tortured by secrets and pain. And he was beautiful. I wanted August to meet him. They were so alike. Quietly strong. I wished Mama could meet August. She would seat him at our dining room table and serve him thick cuts of bread with sticky marmalade. The belly of the teapot would be warm, full of raspberry tea. Red poppies in the center of the table would give a friendly wave from their glass jar. Mama would remove her apron before sitting down next to August. Then she’d reach across, put her hand on top of his, and tell him—Tak się cieszę, że tu jesteś. I am so glad you are here. Joana still had her mother. Reuniting with her mother was her motivation.
