Before Our Dawn| ongoing

twenty-three

Chapitre vignt-trois
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Life began to unravel in June of 1939.

Days before Sophie's 1st birthday, they had received the news from police that Tarek had been a victim of a fatal assault on his way home from the clinic.

Marcel, Isra, and eleven-month-old Sophie had been engrossed in the joyful task of preparing dinner. The kitchen was alive with the comforting sounds of chopping, sizzling, and their daughter's delighted gurgles. "Pa-pa! Ba-ba-ba-ba!"

The telephone's ring cut through the air. Isra wiped her hands on her apron and headed out of the kitchen to the sitting room, her voice cheerful as she answered the call.

"Hello?" Isra greeted. 

But as her mother's voice filtered through the receiver, the usual warmth was replaced by a heaviness that seemed to travel through the wires and settle into her heart. Her cheerful expression shifted, giving way to a growing disbelief as she absorbed her mother's words. "He's gone, Isra..."

"Gone?" she repeated, a tremor rising to her hands. "Mama, what does that mean? Where has he gone to?"

"No... gone. Your father is dead." The sobs on the other end of the line only deepened the knot of unease in Isra's stomach.

The phone receiver slipped from her grasp and clattered against the tabletop. Hearing the loud noise, Marcel rushed out of the kitchen. "Isra, what happened? What's wrong?" he pressed.

"My father... my father, he is..." The sentence trailed off, swallowed by the lump in her throat, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. The news had cast a shadow over their evening, and he could feel the tendrils of sadness creeping into their midst. Without hesitation, he stepped closer to her, enfolding her in a gentle embrace as she began to sob.

That very evening, they had gone to the police station, where Samia was, crying hopelessly, as the police officers confirmed the tragic news. "He was mugged and assaulted," the officer's voice was gentle as he shared the devastating details. "I'm so sorry to say that it turned fatal."

It didn't feel real. It felt like she was dreaming, and that if she took a taxi to the 18th arrondissement and entered her old apartment, that he would be there, sitting in the sitting room and analyzing patient charts. He had to be.

But no. When Isra, Marcel, and Sophie stopped by the apartment with Samia, Tarek wasn't there. The apartment felt emptier, as if waiting for him to walk through the front door at any moment. He had always been delighted to see Sophie, his eyes lighting up as he would sweep her into his arms. He'd nuzzle his nose against hers, marveling at how quickly she was growing. But now, his absence left a void that seemed impossible to fill.

In the week that followed, Samia made a difficult announcement when she visited Isra and Marcel: she had decided to return to Algeria. With Tarek's sudden passing, she felt that the life they had built together in France had lost its anchor. She spoke of the need to take his body back to their homeland, to lay him to rest where they had their roots.

Isra's tearful protests filled the room as she clung to her mother. "Please, Mama, don't leave. I need you here with me, especially now." Her words were punctuated by sobs, her desperation evident.

Samia's eyes glistened with her own unshed tears, but her resolve remained unyielding. "My dear, I understand your pain, but I need to do this. I need to take him home. It's where he belongs."

Her fingers tightened on her mother's hand, a plea in her eyes. "But what about us? What about Sophie? She needs her grandmother."

A tremor passed through Samia's voice as she replied, "You will always be in my heart, and Sophie as well. But right now, I must honor your father's memory and fulfill this final duty for him."