Never Mine

The year was 1944, and the world was at war.

Sergeant Theodore Sullivan had no illusions about what war was. He had witnessed death, destruction, and the crumbling of everything he once held dear. What hurt most, however, was the loss of Aimee—the woman he had left behind in their small town in California before he was shipped off to Europe.

Aimee had been his everything. They had talked about a future, about marriage and children, about a life far removed from the nightmare of war. But when Theodore left in 1943, the world quickly began to unravel. Letters stopped coming from Aimee. Rumors of bombings and air raids reached him through the grapevine, and the silence that followed gnawed at his soul.

By the time Theodore found himself standing on the shores of Normandy, his heart had already been buried under the weight of those unanswered letters, each one a symbol of what he thought he had lost.

The days bled into each other. D-Day had come and gone. Theodore's battalion fought its way through towns in France—some liberated, others reduced to rubble. Still, there was no word from Aimee. His mind began to accept the unthinkable: that she was gone, lost in the chaos, never to return.

What was the point of surviving this hell if there was nothing waiting for him back home? He fought, not because he believed in the cause, but because there was no other choice.

It was in a field hospital near the front lines, under the dim glow of battlefield lamps, that Theodore's life would change again.

A nurse whose name is Josephine Carter was everything. Theodore wasn't—kind, gentle, and unshakably hopeful. She had joined the Army Nurse Corps as soon as she could, driven by a desire to help those in need. Born and raised in a quiet New England town, she had seen the toll war took on soldiers, but she refused to let it strip her of her humanity. She believed in healing, in the power of compassion to rebuild what war had broken.

Theodore first met Josephine while recovering from a minor injury. A grenade had thrown him into the rubble during a firefight, leaving him with a few bruises and a limp. Josephine was there when he was carried into the makeshift hospital, her eyes bright with concern despite the weariness in her voice. She was no stranger to the horrors of war, but she had an uncanny ability to make the suffering around her feel a little less heavy.

At first, Theodore couldn't bring himself to speak much. His thoughts were too tangled with grief and anger. But Josephine's presence—her calm demeanor, her unwavering kindness—had a way of pulling him from his dark thoughts. Slowly, they started talking, at first about little things—his hometown, her childhood memories of growing up in the quiet hills of Vermont, what life might be like after the war.

Josephine's smile became a small light in the darkness of his existence. She was warm and understanding in a way that made him want to trust her. She didn't ask about his past, and when he finally started opening up about Aimee, she listened—without judgment, without pity. She simply listened.

The days turned into weeks. Josephine and Theodore's bond grew stronger. They spent more time together, sharing quiet moments away from the chaos of the front. She became his anchor in a world that had been slipping out of his grasp for so long.

Still, Theodore carried the ghost of Aimee with him. He knew he was falling for Josephine, but there was a part of him that couldn't let go of the woman he had left behind. How could he let himself love again when he still believed Aimee was out there, waiting for him?

One evening, after a particularly brutal battle had left the camp on edge, Theodore sat with Josephine in the mess hall. The night was thick with the smell of sweat, gunpowder, and something else—something more intangible. It was as if everyone had finally come to terms with the fact that this war would eventually end. But for Theodore, the weight of Aimee's absence hung heavy.

"Your quiet tonight," Josephine remarked, her voice soft as she stirred her coffee.

Theodore hesitated. "I got a letter," he said finally, his voice low. "From home. It's... from Aimee."

Josephine looked at him, her expression unreadable but understanding. "Is she...?"

Theodore nodded, feeling the lump rise in his throat. "She's alive. She never stopped writing me. I thought she was dead. Thought she was—"

His words faltered, and Josephine reached over to place her hand gently over his.

"I'm glad, Theodore," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "I'm glad she's alive."

But Theodore knew, deep down, that something had shifted. Even as the joy of hearing from Aimee overwhelmed him, he realized how deeply he cared for Josephine. He couldn't deny the connection between them.

Weeks later, as the war seemed to be winding down in Europe, Theodore received word that he would be returning home. The news came with mixed emotions. He would go back to Aimee, the woman he thought he had lost forever. But now, there was Josephine—the woman who had kept him whole in the darkest of times, the woman who had made him feel, for the first time in months, that he could have a future.

Before he left, he sought her out. The field hospital was a blur of activity as soldiers returned from the front, but Josephine was there, helping and healing. She was always there.

"Josephine," Theodore said, his voice strained. "I have to go. I'm going home."

Josephine paused, looking up from the soldier she was tending to. She gave him a small, understanding smile. "I know."

"I don't know what to say," he said, his voice breaking.

"You don't need to say anything, Theodore," Josephine replied, her eyes soft but steady. "You know what you have to do. You have to go to her. Aimee is your past. I... I never wanted to be in the way of that."

Theodore felt the weight of her words like a stone in his chest. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "I never wanted to hurt you."

Josephine shook her head, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. "You haven't hurt me. I'm just... glad I could help you, even if just for a little while."

For a long moment, Theodore stood there, unsure of what to do. Then, without a word, he reached for her hand, holding it tightly. "You saved me, Josephine. You'll never know how much."

"I'll always remember you, Theodore," she whispered.

The war ended soon after, and Theodore returned home to California. He was reunited with Aimee, the woman he had thought lost. They embraced, and for a moment, all was right in the world again.

But as the years passed, Theodore couldn't forget Josephine—the nurse who had been his lifeline when everything felt impossible. And in the quiet moments, when the world felt too heavy, Theodore would remember her kindness and the unspoken love they had shared in a time of darkness.

Theodore had come home to Aimee, but he carried a piece of Josephine with him always—a reminder that sometimes, the heart can heal in unexpected ways, and love can grow in the most unlikely places. Josephine then wrote him a letter she and ended it with the words, 

"...'Cause you were never mine. Never mind."