Esme.

I would never wish anything more in my life than for Conor to have not gone into the war, and for him never to go again. He thinks I don't see it, but believe me, I do. His eyes are ice blue, hard and cold with hatred for the world. Hatred for everything except the things he loved most in the world. He loved those beautiful moments when the sun and the wind catch the corn in the field just right, and glimmer with utter perfection. He loved the slight summer breeze in spring, and the exciting shiver of winter, in the first days of autumn. But most of all, he loved me. He hated my smile, my innocence, my face, my positivity... but only because I was his, and he couldn't bear to ruin the utter perfection of my natural happiness. I may worry about Conor, but any thought on my mind to do with him was another second of heart blinding joy that I couldn't resist. I wish he would be happier, as he was before the war. But I could never change Conor, and in my heart, I knew I didn't want to.