Loss.
Memories forgotten came flooding back as he caught a glimpse of her face once more. That defiant look caught on camera, etched forever in his mind. Who would have thought she would be capable of such deceit? He looked at his hands, remembering how they had stroked her snow white hair. His hands had delighted in scattering them till they looked like feathers all around her face. Little bird, he called her because of her hair. She would laugh at him, laugh at his foolishness now that he thought of it. She would blush so prettily, a red hue against such white skin when he had done wicked things to her. Such wonderful times they had spent together. He was proud to be her man, proud he had won the love of the most beautiful girl in town. She had cried the day he left for war. Her scarf securely wrapped around her neck to ward off the cold that early morning. They had both made promises to each other, feverish kisses were exchanged. They hugged each other as if they did not want to let go but the train came and they had to part. He could not resist taking that one snapshot as she fought back tears and struggled to be brave. He had arrived two years after, his letters unanswered to find her married to another, carrying the baby she had promised him. He had watched her smile at him, watched him caress her just like he had not so long ago. This sense of loss would never leave him...he feared it would follow him to the grave.
This is my entry for the foxtales contest hosted by @vermillionfox.