The Sharpest Jewel |Alfie Solomons|

~ Chapter 20 ~

FRANCE, 1918.

The war was finally over. The armistice had been signed, and the guns had fallen silent. After four long years, the world was beginning to breathe again. News of the ceasefire had swept through the medical camps like wildfire, and while many rejoiced, Florence felt something different. Relief, yes. But it was mingled with exhaustion, a bone-deep weariness that had settled over her in a way she couldn't shake.

The war had consumed so much of her life. She had left behind the peaceful routine of the bakery and had become something else—a nurse, a caretaker, someone who had watched too many men die and too many others live on in pain. Now, with the fighting over, she should have been eager to leave, to return home and find some semblance of her old life. But she couldn't. There was one person she needed to see before she could even think about going back. Robbie.

As the other nurses began packing up, talking about where they'd go and what they'd do once they got home, Florence remained quiet. The thought of home—the bakery, her friends, the familiar streets of London—felt distant, almost foreign now. Instead, her mind was fixed on finding out where Robbie had been transferred. She had heard rumors that he had been moved to a convalescent camp for long-term rehabilitation, somewhere far from the front lines. But beyond that, she knew nothing.

Determined, Florence approached one of the senior nurses. "Do you have any information on where Private Robbie Callan was transferred?" she asked, her voice steady despite the nervous energy she felt. The nurse gave her a curious look but didn't ask any questions. "I'll check the records for you. It may take a while, but I'll see what I can find." Florence thanked her and waited, her heart pounding in her chest. The hours dragged on, but finally, the nurse returned with a note in her hand. "He was transferred to a recovery hospital in northern France. It's quite a distance from here, but if you leave soon, you could make it before the winter sets in."

Without a second thought, Florence packed up her few belongings. She barely noticed the other nurses around her celebrating or planning their journeys home. Her only focus was on getting to Robbie. She had spent so many months by his side, laughing with him, sharing moments of hope in a world filled with despair. She couldn't leave without seeing him again.

The journey was long, but the further Florence traveled from the battle-scarred fields of France, the more she began to hope. The smoke from the war had cleared, and the landscape was beginning to heal, slowly but surely. She found herself imagining what it would be like to see Robbie again, picturing his familiar smile and the way he used to joke with her about anything and everything, even in the worst of times.

When she finally reached the recovery hospital, she felt a nervous flutter in her stomach. The building was modest but clean, and she could hear the sound of patients talking inside as she approached. She stepped through the door and was greeted by a nurse at the desk.

"Can I help you?" the nurse asked kindly. "I'm looking for a man named Robbie Callan," Florence said, her voice unsteady. "He was transferred here from one of the front-line hospitals." The nurse checked her records and nodded. "Yes, he's here. He's in the ward eight. Follow me."

As they walked down the quiet hallways, Florence felt her nerves building. What if he had changed? What if he didn't remember her, or worse, what if he wasn't doing well? But she pushed the thoughts aside. She had come all this way—she had to see him. The nurse stopped at a door and gestured for Florence to enter. "He's in there." Florence took a deep breath and stepped inside. The room was quiet, with soft light filtering in through the windows. And there, in a bed near the far wall, was Robbie. His face was pale, and he still bore the scars of his injuries, but when he looked up and saw her, a smile spread across his face.