𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐀 𝐖𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐍 | | 1917

28. THE SONG

" Perhaps she did survive that time, but things were said that couldn't be taken back. "

-

IT HAD BEEN two days. Julian had told Jo the rest of his story. How there only came out four alive from the car that otherwise contained 15 men.

He had been knocked unconscious and then woken up by a nurse who later sent him to Paris and the hospital there.

The rest was history.

Jo was sitting at the table next to the young man himself. In her hands laid a piece of parchment and on her face was a smile which she failed to hide.

'Dear Josephine,'

Julian was glancing over at her, a tiny grin creeping onto his face. A knowing look that could be spotted across the room.

"Maintenant dis-moi, quel est son nom?"
Jo thinking he still was asleep turned her gaze surprisingly towards him.
Now tell me, what's his name?

"Dont le nom?" she asked. Whose name?

Without answering; he instead nodded towards Jo's letter. For some reason she turned her eyes towards it as well, looking over the carefully scribbled notes which were plastered upon the paper.

'Dear Josephine,"

"William," she said his name softly, not looking away from it.

'Il est anglais, non?" He's English, isn't he?

Silence. Hesitation.

"Oui." Yes.

She heard him chuckle, but couldn't care less. She could only let her thumb gently brush against the paper.

'Dear Josephine,'

She was desperate for the feeling of happiness that she felt every now and then, but everything just kept being so unpredictable. Her feelings struggling to remain the same leading to a rollercoaster of emotion to constantly hit her. She was cold, even though the heat of late spring was sufficient. She was cold, for she could not find her heart.

Yet when Will's letters came everything just seemed to be alright. Even for just a second.

And he was going home.

That was what he wrote to her.

At least for the time being

And she was so happy for him.

Even though the man hadn't been too in detail about it in the texts- she knew that he was to get on the train sometimes during these next few days.

She wished he would see his sisters and his mother and father. Those he had left back home.
Hug them, please do. Tell them he loved them while he could.

Because Jo couldn't.
And there was no going back. Not now. Not ever.

She wished he could feel happy. Because if she couldn't- at least he could. It seemed like she could only strive for other's happiness. Was it a bad thing? She had yet to figure that out.