Chapter 32: Here Lies…
Year 0002, IX Month: The Imperium
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The Morning Home After Their Short Break
Morning light filtered through the cracks of the modest dwelling, casting long shadows across the floor where Jonathan had spent another restless night. It was now the day after their arrival at the village—a place that is both familiar and eerily foreign to him, a home. The children had already completed their usual morning routine, something they appeared to have established long before his group's arrival.
When they returned, flushed with exertion and morning air, Jonathan finally gathered the courage to ask his daughter about his wife's whereabouts. He had assumed Odessa remained in the village while they ventured out, perhaps tending to some domestic task or speaking with neighbors.
But upon their arrival last night, the realization struck him—the place was eerily empty. There were no other inhabitants except for them and the children who had taken them in. The silence of the place spoke volumes, yet he couldn't bring himself to ask the question that burned within him the previous evening. Everyone needed rest, including himself, though exhaustion did little to quiet his mind.
He lay awake through the night beside his sleeping daughter, unable to shut out the persistent feeling of longing. What had become of Odessa? The question circled his thoughts like a vulture, waiting for the moment of weakness when he could no longer deny the growing dread in his heart.
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The Dreaded Question
Morning arrived with cruel indifference to his suffering.
The children returned from whatever peculiar routine they claimed to perform each dawn. Their faces betrayed a knowledge they were reluctant to share. Jonathan could wait no longer. The question that had haunted his sleepless night burst forth.
"Where is she? Where is your mother?"
Gel recoiled as though struck, her eyes darting to her companions in silent desperation. They could only stare at the ground, equally helpless in the face of a father's yearning. The weight of unspoken truth hung heavy between them.
It was August who finally approached her, his young hand resting gently on her shoulder with a wisdom beyond his years.
"You knew this day would come sooner or later," he said softly. "You should tell Uncle the truth now; he at least deserves it. We'll be here when you get back."
Gel understood the necessity of his words, but her heart fractured at the thought of what she must do. How could she be the bearer of such news? The burden seemed too great for her young shoulders.
Yet as she drew a deep breath, she managed to compose her features into a mask of courage that barely concealed her pain.
"Daddy, come with me. I'll take you to where Mom is."
She reached for his weathered hand—so much larger than her own—and led him away from the others. Her fingers trembled against his palm.
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Here Lies…
Jonathan followed his daughter's lead, the memory of her earlier expression tugging painfully at his heart, as if some invisible tether had been severed within him. With each step, his dread grew heavier, a leaden weight settling in his stomach.
He... he didn't know what he would do if his suspicions proved true.
After several minutes of silent walking, they arrived at a serene location, somewhat distant from the house, just beyond the cultivated garden fields. Before them stretched several plots of earth, each surrounded by circles of carefully arranged stones. The plots were aligned in neat rows, some looking freshly tended.
Gel approached one particular plot, lovingly maintained alongside three others nearby. With reverent care, she placed a single wildflower upon the earth. The simple gesture carried an unbearable finality.
When she turned to face him, her voice broke the silence like glass shattering.
"Dad..."
The pause stretched between them, an abyss of grief neither could traverse.
"Here lies Mom..." she finally managed, before her composure crumbled entirely.
Months of suppressed emotions burst forth as tears streamed down her face. The hurt she had carried alone for so long—with no one to share the burden of her loss—now poured out before her father, raw and unfiltered.
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The Painful Truth
Jonathan stood immobile, struck silent by a truth he had desperately tried to deny. His daughter wept beside him, but he could offer no comfort—not when his own heart was being torn asunder.
He had clung to hope all this time, praying for any answer but this. Yet here was the confirmation he feared most: his beloved Odessa was gone.
That mysterious string that had guided him here, to this place—it must have been his wife's final act of selfless love, reaching beyond death itself to reunite the bereaved father and daughter. A parting gift from a love that refused to die completely.
Something vital within him perished in that moment. He wanted to rail against fate, to howl his anguish to the indifferent sky. But what purpose would it serve now? She was beyond hearing his pleas or feeling his touch. The finality crushed him.
He should never have left her. He should have defied Rommel's unjust orders of forceful volunteers to join the army, consequences be damned. Then perhaps she would still draw breath, still stand beside him as they watched their daughter grow. The weight of his failings carved deep lines into his features, etching a dark, hollow expression onto his face.
Regret, hatred, anger, and profound sorrow coursed through him. But above all, his spirit—once so resilient—lay broken at his feet, scattered like the stones marking his wife's eternal rest.
Gel's tears eventually subsided, leaving behind the hollow ache of a buried grief that had been revisited. She observed her father's expression—a blank canvas painted with the darkest hues of despair. No tears marked his cheeks; no words escaped his lips. He stood as still as the grave markers surrounding them.
She felt helpless before his silent suffering. How could she possibly mend what was now irreparably broken? He had lost a fundamental piece of himself—a loss she understood all too well.
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The Words of a Boy
After nearly half an hour had passed, a concerned August came searching for them. As he approached, the tableau became clear: the man standing motionless, his daughter clutching his hand in silent support.
August assessed the situation with perceptive eyes. Gel seemed to have found some measure of acceptance in her grief, but Uncle Jonathan appeared frozen in shock. *He needs to release this pain,* August thought, *but how do I reach him? What words could possibly bridge such profound loss?*
A minute of contemplation passed before August approached Gel, who had noticed his arrival and seemed grateful for his presence. Her concern for her father was evident in every glance she cast his way.
August gathered his courage and spoke from his heart.
"Uncle," he began gently, "it's better to let it all out here and now than to let it swallow you slowly and linger forever."
He paused, choosing his next words carefully.
"I know Auntie is already smiling in heaven, watching you finally visit her along with your daughter. But I think she would be happier, if you could embrace the life that remains. Gel is still here, and she needs you."
His voice grew stronger, more certain.
"The being that you and Auntie brought into this world is still here. Please be strong for her. Let her be your reason to find joy once more."
The boy's words penetrated the darkness enveloping Jonathan's heart, reaching him just before he could be completely consumed. They reminded him of what remained to be cherished—of his responsibility to the living.
Slowly, the dam within him broke. Tears flowed freely down his weathered face, and a primal wail erupted from deep within his chest, echoing throughout the otherwise silent village. It was the sound of a man confronting his deepest loss, finally acknowledging what he had been too afraid to face.
August signaled to Gel to step back, allowing her father the space to properly grieve. The boy understood that this powerful display of emotion was not a sign of weakness but of healing—the first necessary step for a man with a profound sense of duty toward his family.
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After the Pain Comes the Acceptance
Hours later, Jonathan returned to the house. The children had taken turns watching over him from a distance, respecting his need for solitude while ensuring his safety. August had postponed all activities for the day, recognizing the importance of allowing everyone time to process their emotions.
They had observed Jonathan selecting a beautiful flat stone from somewhere nearby, which he carefully placed atop his wife's grave after laboring over it for some time.
When he finally entered the house, the dark expression had lifted somewhat from his features. He immediately knelt before his daughter and embraced her, his arms enfolding her with newfound purpose.
"I'm sorry, Angeline," he whispered, his voice hoarse from crying.
"It's okay, Daddy," she replied, her small arms tightening around his neck. "You're here now with me. We can start fresh in this place..."
She turned hopeful eyes toward August. "Can we, Gus?"
August startled, surprised by her request for permission, before a genuine smile spread across his face.
"Yeah, you could stay here as long as you like."
The father and daughter exchanged tentative smiles—fragile but real. When they served Jonathan food, he ate with an unexpected appetite, as if acknowledging that life, however painful, must continue.
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A Final Act
Upon the flat stone at Odessa's grave, freshly carved words bore witness to a love that transcended even death:
*"Here lies Odessa Ross, a Mother and a Loving Wife."*