Every day she’d go into the cold apartment with the lone window overlooking the garden. The old man sat in a chair next to the window. He never greeted her. He never turned his head to see who it was. She was used to it by now. Instead of saying anything she’d sit down in the chair across from him, wrapped herself in the blanket that was draped over the back of the chair, and look out the window. Words were never exchanged between the two. She didn’t know much about him, only that no nurse or volunteer had ever gotten him to say a word. They left for someone else to deal with him.
    She sighed looking out the window to the garden where was a grandmother playing with her grandchildren. She wondered what the man was thinking. Was he thinking about his family? Did he even have a family? Out of the corner of her eye, she looked at the man. His hands were folded in his lap and he had a blanket draped over his shoulders. She looked at her watch. They had been sitting there for twenty minutes. In a way it was peaceful. It was her hour with her thoughts. Of course, if the man ever talked she would reply. She was learning that his way was silence. 
    She had been coming here for three months and was slowly losing hope that she’d ever get the man to talk. She didn’t push him; that was the difference between her and the others. If he was going to talk she was willing to let him decide when. She glanced at her watch once more, it had been an hour. Standing, she pushed the chair up next to the wall like she did every day. She folded the blanket and placed it over the back of the chair. She turned and took a step to leave when something changed that had never happened before.
    “They were too young,” the old man said. She turned to face the man.
    “Pardon?” She asked. The old man didn’t answer. She wasn’t sure if he’d even said anything or if she had imagined it. She turned around to walk out the door when she noticed something in the room she’d never seen before. A faded photograph of a young man in a WWII uniform and a beautiful young woman, smiling and looking at the camera. She picked up the photo and flipped it over. Richard and Adeline, 1942. Taken before Richard goes off to war.
She looked over to the window where the man was now looking at her.
“My brother and his wife,” he stated. “They were too young.” She nodded and put the picture down. The man looked back out the window. She smiled. The first time he’d talked to anyone since he’d came here. She turned on her heels and headed towards the door. Maybe tomorrow he’d tell her more. Maybe tomorrow she’d finally find out who he was.