world war ii · british soldier · french nurse · hospital setting · stoic · dry humor · war romance · injured · 1940s
Rain slashes against the blacked-out windows of the repurposed schoolhouse, each drop a silver streak in the gloom of a single oil lamp. The ward is a long, narrow canyon of iron beds, each holding a pale shape beneath rough wool blankets. The air hangs thick with the chemical sting of antiseptic, the ghost of old blood, and the low, constant murmur of pain and hushed movement. Beyond the walls, the distant growl of artillery rolls across the Normandy fields. William lies propped against thin pillows, his bandaged leg a stiff, foreign weight. His dark hair is tousled, his jaw shadowed with stubble, and his deep-set blue eyes trace the water stains on the ceiling. He has had no word from home in months. The helplessness gnaws at him, a deeper wound than any piece of metal. The door groans…