Before Our Dawn| ongoing

twenty-four

Chapitre vignt-quatre
━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

The year was 1939, and the world held its breath as the gears of destiny turned with mercilessness. On that fateful day of September 1st, German forces surged into Poland, a merciless torrent that left destruction in its wake. The world watched as Poland's lands were swallowed by the maw of invasion, as the flames of war danced upon its soil. On September 3rd, 1939, France stood unyielding, declaring war upon Germany. The die had been cast, and the ink of history bled a new chapter of conflict.

The world braced itself for the cataclysmic collision of ideals.

The letter in Marcel's hand held a decree that shattered the fragile peace they had known. And now, with that single piece of paper, Marcel's fate was sealed – he was conscripted to fight for his country.

"No... no... this has to be a mistake. Conscripted? That's preposterous, Marcel! You can't... it's not possible..." Isra's voice cracked with disbelief and anguish as she clung to him, her fingers clutching at the fabric of his shirt as if she could anchor him in place. Her tears fell freely, wetting the material beneath her hands.

He tried to keep his own emotions in check, to be strong for her, but the reality of the situation was like a vice around his chest. "I wish it were a mistake, Isra," he murmured. "I wish I could stay here with you and Sophie. But we're at war now, and they need every ablebody to defend our country."

Isra's grip on him tightened as if she could physically keep him from being taken away. "Can't you... can't you find a way to avoid this? A way to stay?"

Marcel shook his head, his heart heavy. "I wish there was, but the orders are clear. I have to report for duty. It's my responsibility as a Frenchman."

Her tears flowed freely as she pressed her face into his chest, her sobs shaking her frame. "I can't lose you, Marcel. I can't bear it. There has to be a way. You're a doctor. You can't just... they can't just make you leave." She shook her head in vehement denial, her face contorted with grief. "We have a daughter, Marcel. Sophie needs her father. I need you. How can they just take you away from us like this?"

"Isra, I need you to be strong."

"I can't be strong without you. The thought of you going to war... it's tearing me apart."

"I know," his voice cracked. When she looked up, she saw his own tears pouring down his face, she saw the tremor in his hands, and she saw the devastation inscribed on his features. "I don't... I don't want to leave you and Sophie..."

"We can run away. We can go to Algeria or Switzerland and find a way to get to the United States and..." Even to her ears, her plan sounded delusional. Reality cast its harsh light upon her, extinguishing the fragile flicker of hope. There was no escaping the gravity of the situation, no way to evade the inexorable pull of death. Despair constricted her heart as she grappled with the enormity of the truth – that hope was but a mirage against the looming horizon of war.

"We'll find a way. This isn't our end. This war, it's not our end."

Only last week did they return from Nice, spirits high and ready to tackle whatever challenges lay before them. But just one letter had changed everything in a span of a few hours. Germany was in Poland now. Her husband had to serve his country. There was no guarantee that he wouldn't be sent to the front lines of the war.

"When do you have to report?"

He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, leading her to the sofa to take a seat. "In two days' time."

"Two days? That's... that's so soon. What about Sophie? What about us? How can you just leave like this?"

"I don't have a choice, Isra."