Before Our Dawn| ongoing

twenty-eight

Chapitre vignt-huit
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The air was crisp and laden with an icy chill, and the overcast sky offered no respite from the gloom that had settled over Paris. It was December 25th, 1940, Christmas Day. In the apartment, Isra had done her best to bring some semblance of festivity to the day. With her limited resources, she'd gathered the old, faded Christmas decorations they had tucked away. She strung them up around the room, their colours muted by the surrounding bleakness.

Sophie sat on the rug in the sitting room, her wide blue eyes filled with curiosity as Isra stoked the fire in the fireplace. The wood had been a generous gift from Pierre two days ago, who had acquired it through some miraculous means. She hadn't asked where he received it from, but she accepted it and thanked him. The apartment was warm and toasty. Outside, the roads were covered with snow.

The main attraction was a gift. Isra had made a hand-knit sweater for her in white yarn. During long, lonely nights while her daughter slept, she worked diligently, needing to keep her hands busy, and this was the outcome.

Despite Isra's attempts, the day remained bleak. Her thoughts constantly drifted to Marcel, who had been missing in action for months now. She longed for the Christmases they had celebrated together, filled with laughter, warmth, and love. Now, all that remained were the faded decorations and the haunting absence of her beloved husband. 

Sitting beside Sophie on the rug, she wrapped them both up in a thick, woollen blanket to keep them warm. They wore layers of clothing to stave off the biting cold, thick socks on their feet, and cozy sweaters to shield them from the winter's chill. The fireplace, which had remained dormant since Marcel's departure after New Year's, crackled to life for the first time today, its flickering flames casting a comforting glow. Firewood was difficult to get her hands on, and it was a blessing that Pierra had been kind enough to give them a few logs.

"How are you feeling, my love?" she asked with a gentle smile.

"Christmas," she mumbled in her tiny voice, pointing at the decorations around the room.

"Yes, it's Christmas, my darling. Mama loves you so much, and we'll make this Christmas as special as we can, even if it's just the two of us."

Sophie clapped her small hands together in delight, seemingly oblivious to the grim circumstances that surrounded them.

"You're so brave," she whispered, patting her head. "Even braver than your Mama. You're just like your father..."

She wondered how Marcel was spending his Christmas, if he was even alive—he is alive.

He is alive, she reminded herself. None of those negative thoughts. Not today of all days.

At lunchtime, Isra did her best to create a meal from their limited rations. After putting Sophie down for her nap in the nursery, Isra retreated to the small, dimly lit kitchen. She opened the cabinet above the sink and reached for a dusty bottle of wine. It was their last remaining bottle, a relic from a past Christmas when Marcel had brought two. They had shared one together, and this one had been saved, reserved for special occasions like the one she found herself in today, a small indulgence in these difficult times.

With a heavy heart, Isra selected a glass, poured the wine, and collected her cigarettes from the kitchen counter. Carrying these to the living room, she settled in front of the flickering fireplace, where the warmth couldn't quite reach the chill in her soul. As the room filled with a soft, sombre light, she sipped her wine and let the smoke from her cigarette curl upwards, lost in her thoughts.