The Truth of a Fallen Hero

The letter arrived forty years too late, its edges yellowed and brittle like

autumn leaves. Margaret's tremulous fingers traced the familiar handwriting - her brother's

scrawl from the trenches of Vietnam. She'd been told he died instantly, no pain,

no final words. But here was proof of his mendacious commanding officer's lie.

"Maggie," the letter began, "if you're reading this, I didn't make it

home. I wasn't the hero they'll tell you I was. I was pusillanimous,

hiding in foxholes while better men charged ahead." Her breath caught. All these years,

she'd built a shrine to his heroism. Purple Heart on the mantle, stories of his courage