Will our love endure the war?
April 1939. Brighton, England.
The sea breeze carried the scent of salt and distant rain through the Brighton streets. The sun was a rare sight to see those times, covered by a sea of endless gloomy clouds, and the days stretched endlessly.
The weather perfectly matched the mood in Europe and the rest of the world as rumours of impending war and conflict grew with each passing moment.
Mother Nature seemed to be mourning the loss of something.
Olivia Miller and Leyton Harris walked hand-in-hand through the semi-empty city streets, neither saying a word to the other.
The silence was comfortable, but it was also strange. There was something unspoken in the air between them, and Leyton’s mind seemed so far away from the present.
Olivia could see the distant look in his eyes, and in her heart, she feared that she knew what it meant. They continued their long walk through the paved roads until they reached a park near the city’s outskirts.
With their hands intertwined, they sat on an empty bench and watched as the seagulls flew across the sea, into the sky, and back across the sea, squealing in excitement.
Littered on the floor around them were propaganda flyers calling for Britain to join the war as the German threat began to seem more tangible.
A slight wind whipped one of the papers straight to the couple’s feet.
“I wonder…” Leyton began, picking up the paper. His voice was barely a whisper. “Why the world won’t just get along.”
Olivia squeezed his hand and looked up into his earnest blue eyes.
“It’s all still rumours for now, Leyton,” she replied, attempting to soothe him with her voice. “Nobody wants a repeat of what happened barely twenty years ago.”
He scoffed in response, and she squeezed his hand even tighter.
They both knew she wasn’t being realistic. They had read the newspaper together earlier that week, and everyone around town had heard the reports coming out of Western Europe.
Olivia understood his fears and shared them with him, but why were they so certain the war would happen? The world had barely healed from the last global conflict; it would be foolishness to start another so soon. Right?
She wasn’t so sure herself.
Leyton reached into his coat pocket and pulled out an envelope, then he handed it to her as he looked away.
“I’ve been called up,” he said, his eyes staring straight into the distance. “The army needs all the help they can get. Just in case.”
Olivia’s hands trembled as she stared at the envelope, the unmistakable stamp of the Queen’s office staring back at her, bold and signed.
The words in the letter confirmed all of her fears.
The British Army was recruiting young Englishmen for a provisional army, and Leyton was to join them in a few weeks.
The reality of war had finally reached their doorstep, anticipated, dreaded, and yet thoroughly unprepared for.
“Oh, my dearest Leyton!” She cried, pulling him into her arms as tears welled in her eyes.
They held each other for a long time, her grip fierce and unflinching for fear that he would slip from her hands.
“It’s like you said,” Leyton said, pulling out slightly from her embrace. “Who knows? We might never be called up to the frontlines. There is still hope. For the world. For us.”
Olivia knew he was just trying to make her feel better, but it wasn’t working.
The horrific war stories she heard from her father as a child had exposed her to the harsh nature of war, and there was nothing hopeful about it.
Just a world of pain and death and loss.
Despair rose anew in her, and she fell into his arms, crying even harder.
“I want you to promise me something,” Leyton said, his voice thick and his eyes puffy.
He took her hands in his.
“In case we ever do go to fight, promise you’ll write to me. No matter what happens, just keep writing. It’s the only way I can have you with me.”
“I promise,” Olivia whispered, her voice breaking. “And you must promise to come back to me, Leyton. You must come back and hold me just like this.”
“I promise,” he replied fiercely, holding her face in his hands. “I will come back to you, Olivia, because I love you. You are my heart. You are all I have, so, please, wait for me.”
“I will wait. I love you too,” she replied as she brought her lips up to kiss him.
The kiss was frantic and desperate and passionate. Their skins burnt with fire, and for what seemed like an eternity, oxygen lost its priority. They held onto each other, both afraid to let go, and nothing else around them mattered.
Eventually they broke into an embrace, the chill of the ocean wind enveloping them as they both pondered their uncertain future in their hearts.
May 12, 1939 - Brighton, England
My dearest Leyton,
The sun has been unkind today.
It shows its face for the first time in months, and it seems to have decided to burn everything within its reach.
I’m probably exaggerating, but everything has been overwhelming since we parted ways at the train station.
I know it’s just been a few days, but you being here made life so much easier to bear for me.
I keep waiting for you to walk back through the door, grinning and saying that it’s all over and that you don’t have to be so far away from me anymore.
Mum says I should keep busy, so I’ve been helping out more on the farm, but all I want to do is sit in the garden and think of you, your smile and your big, strong hands.
I miss all of you. Do you remember the roses we planted last spring?
They’re blooming now, and their colours are so vivid, it’s almost unreal.
I water them every day, wishing you were here to admire them with me.
You’d have showered me with a thousand compliments.
Every day we check the news and read the papers, hoping that the war is called off or some agreement is reached, so you don’t have to go to battle.
Dad says it’s almost impossible now, but he’s a bitter old man, still haunted by his experiences in the last war.
He knows nothing about hope. Or faith.
I pray at the chapel every morning now, begging God to avert the war and bring you back to me if He could.
You always say He can do anything, so I guess we’ll see.
Leyton, remember your promise.
You said you’d come back to me, and I believe you.
I have to; if not, I’ll go mad just thinking of what happens if you don’t.
Please write me as soon as you can, so I know you’re okay.
Life makes so much less meaning without you, my dearest.
Your heart,
Olivia.
August 20, 1939 – Aldershot Garrison, England.
My Olivia,
I miss you more than I can put into words, and I wish I were there to admire the roses with you.
However, no matter how beautiful they are, you will always be the Miller farm’s most beautiful.
I miss you every day, my heart.
The lads here are decent guys.
There’s a guy from Brighton like us; his name is Steve; you’ll absolutely love him.
Then there’s Simon, Oscar, Luca, and Leyton. What are the odds, eh? Me meeting a namesake.
There’s also Dele. He’s an African migrant, and he tells the best stories.
These first months of training have been intense, but you give me strength.
The thoughts of our future, of our family, keep me going.
These barracks are so crowded; I’ve never seen so many people gathered in one place, yet I am lonelier than ever.
Thank you for writing as you promised you would.
I’ll get into trouble if I say much about it in this letter, but I don’t think I’m coming home anytime soon.
The world is going to war again, but I’m not afraid, Olivia, and you shouldn’t be either.
I’m glad to hear you’ve been praying.
Pray for us.
Your love and your faith will keep me going.
I haven’t forgotten my promise, and I intend to keep it.
Keep writing to me, my love.
I need your words more than you know.
Your soldier will never stop fighting.
Your dearest,
Leyton.
October 5, 1939 - Brighton, England.
My Dearest,
I received your last letter, and I burst into tears before I even read it. It was a tad embarrassing.
The mailman probably thinks I’m a little unwell upstairs. I might be, to be honest.
I’ve been going insane in anticipation, just waiting for you to write.
When I read in the paper that you’ve been deployed properly into the war, I was so scared, Leyton.
Your letter came at the perfect time, and I felt your presence beside me as I read it.
The days have grown shorter here, and the air smells like rain all the time. I miss you terribly.
The war feels so much closer now, and since a report in the paper said Germany might attack England, everyone has been on edge. The slightest sound has us all flinching.
Dad had another heart attack, and I think he might die soon. The poor man can’t handle another war.
To be honest, all I care about is where you are and when I’ll see you again.
Nobody in the military is telling us anything, and I know it’s sensitive times, but it’s all so frustrating.
I joined the local women’s committee to help with the war effort.
We’re knitting scarves for the soldiers, and I think of you with every one I make, hoping that it gets to you and keeps you warm.
I hope it keeps you safe and keeps us connected, even from so far away.
Every evening, we go to the chapel to sing safety hymns for all the soldiers.
The women at the church are all really nice people. Many of us have loved ones in the army, so we’ve sort of bonded over the fear that we’ll never see any of you again.
It’s all so absurd, but it’s oddly comforting.
I feel closer to God too. Every night, I say a little prayer that you’ll be safe, you and your new friends. I hope He brings you back to me.
I hope you come back to me, Leyton, just like you promised. I await you, my dearest.
Please write back soon.
I’ll lose my mind if I have to wait as much as I did the last time.
There’s a little gift attached to this letter for you.
Your heart,
Olivia.
January 5, 1940 - Northern France
Olivia,
It felt wonderful to see your face again. Thank you for the gift; it was thoughtful.
I’ll keep it in my uniform so you can be with me as I fight.
You give me strength. You are my strength.
The days are cold, brutally cold, and the nights are even worse, stretching on endlessly.
The scarves do little, but it’s lovely to have a piece of you here with me.
It’s a nightmare out here, Olivia.
The fighting’s intensifying, and I’ve seen more death than I ever thought possible.
We are all afraid, though none of the lads will admit it out loud.
Thank you for praying for us.
I’m so sorry to hear about your dad.
He might not be the best father, but you have to spend more time with him. In case these days are his last.
I hope this reaches you soon.
We’ve been told that letters might take longer to be sent and received since we’re overseas.
Letters go missing too, so if you don’t hear from me for long, just know that I am okay.
I’m also sending back a picture with this letter.
That’s me on the left, obviously.
Then to my left is the other Leyton, then Dele, then Oscar, Luca, and Simon.
They’re all really good guys, and I hope you can meet them after the war is over.
I don’t know when that would be, but I promise you, my love, that I will come back.
Your dearest,
Leyton.
April 28, 1940 - Brighton, England.
My Love,
It’s been a year since you left, and it’s been so long since your last letter.
My heart is still as heavy as it was on the first day, and I’ve been trying to stay strong, but I won’t lie, I’m so worried.
The papers are full of terrible news from France, and every time the post comes, I hold my breath, hoping it’s a letter from you.
When none arrives, the heartache is unbearable.
Dad died a few weeks after my last letter to you.
I didn’t spend much time with him, but he didn’t die with us on bad terms, so I guess that’s okay.
England is in so much disarray. Food prices have hiked drastically, and the winter really did a number.
It’s all so hard.
Mum says I must keep faith, that no news is good news, but it’s very hard to quiet the fear that creeps in at night.
I keep dreaming of you. In my dreams, you’re home, but when I reach for you, you disappear.
I wake up with tears on my pillow.
The roses withered in the cold, but I know they’ll bloom again, just like you will come home again.
I framed the picture you sent, and I look at it every morning.
With all my love, your heart,
Olivia.
August 18, 1940 – Undisclosed Location
Olivia,
I’m so sorry for the silence.
The war has a way of swallowing the months, and nowadays I don’t even know what time is anymore.
Oscar and Simon died in a blast a week ago, Dele and some others went missing in action, and I keep wondering why God is letting all these things happen.
Are you still praying for me? I really do need your strength, my heart.
Sorry to hear about your dad. He was a decent man.
I’ve not forgotten my promise to you, Olivia, but some days I wonder if it was fair to you.
I gave you hope for something that is completely out of both our powers.
However, I still want to come back to you, and I will fight till my last breath to make sure I do. I swear it.
Your dearest,
Leyton.
November 1, 1940 - Brighton, England
Leyton, my love,
The German attacks were devastating.
London and many other cities were severely hit, and we’re still feeling the aftermath.
I hate war so much, and I don’t know why this all is happening now.
I’m sorry to hear about your comrades; they sounded like really good men.
Every week, the army now publishes a list of names of the soldiers who have died in the war or are missing in action, and I check it every day.
It might seem selfish, but I always feel relieved when I don’t see your name on the list.
I will keep writing, and I want you to write back, but it’s easier on my heart to know that you’re still alive out there.
In your last letter, it sounded like you were starting to doubt.
I don’t know if you doubt my love or your promise. Either way, you made me sad, Leyton.
You always say that a man is nothing without his word, and you gave me that word.
So, don’t you dare give up on me now. Don’t you dare.
P.S - Happy birthday in advance, my dearest.
Your heart,
Olivia.
February 10, 1941 – Northern France
Olivia,
How are you? Well, I hope.
I’ve been thinking about the man I used to be—the man you loved.
The man you saw a future with.
The man who promised you a future.
In many ways, I am no longer that man.
I think about the things I have done to survive, and I wonder if you’d still love me as much as you did when I left two years ago.
I see men die here every day, some in the most horrific ways.
But what’s worse is that I’m starting to feel nothing.
At first, it was grief, then anger, and now... now there’s just numbness.
Some nights, I lie awake and question what the point of it all is.
Why are we here, slaughtering one another? For whose glory? For whose victory?
None of it feels like it matters anymore.
I’m sorry if my last letter hurt you; you know that was never my intention.
I’m still holding onto my promise, but I fear the man who will return to you may not be the man you knew.
Maybe you’d be better off without him.
Leyton.
August 18, 1941. Brighton, England.
My dearest Leyton,
I really hope my letters still get to you.
Last week I thought I saw your name on the dead soldiers list, and my heart broke into a million pieces.
I was crying in front of the post office till Mother pointed out that it was someone else’s name.
I felt a mix of silliness and guilt, but the relief that came after made me laugh harder than I have in a very long time.
You’re still alive, and that comforts me more than anything else.
I’ve been volunteering more at the hospital, helping with the soldiers who returned wounded.
Some of them are not the same as they were when they left. They tell me stories about the war, and it all sounds so horrible.
It’s sad that anybody has to go through that.
Every time I see one of them, I think of you.
I remember what you’re going through, and I wish I was by your side to help you.
Leyton, I don’t care if you come back whole or in half; all I want is you.
I don’t care how much the war changes you; I know the man you are deep down.
You are a good man.
You are all my heart desires.
Mom is starting to resent me for waiting for you for so long, but she won’t understand.
She married my father, so she’s not exactly qualified to give me advice on men.
She keeps saying time isn’t on my side and that I should move on, but I don’t care.
It’s my life, and I choose to wait for you, my dearest. However long it takes.
Write back to me soon; my hope is slipping. It’s the only sign I need.
And please, please, come back home to me.
Your heart,
Olivia.
February 14, 1943 – Brighton, England.
My dearest Leyton,
It brings me immense sadness to write these words, but this will be the last letter I send to you.
It’s been two years without a word, and as much as I want to hold on to hope, my heart can’t take this anymore.
I’ve sent four different letters since your last response, and yet, nothing.
You’ve been gone for four years, and the war is still relentless, raging worse with every passing month.
So many lives have been lost, and so much has changed.
Holding on to your promised return was a glimmer of salvation for me in my darkest times, but now... now, I don’t know anymore.
The army stopped posting the names of deceased soldiers because there were just too many of them, but the last time I checked, a month ago, your name still wasn’t on the list.
So, why haven’t you written to me in so long, Leyton? You said you would always write.
Did your letters get misplaced?
I’ve read your last letter over a thousand times, and each time I do, my heart breaks a little more.
It sounded like a farewell, like you were tired of trying. It feels like you’ve given up on us, and I don’t blame you if you have.
I’m not bitter or resentful.
It was incredibly naïve of us to think that our desires could shape the outcomes of an event as unpredictable as war.
War changes people, and perhaps you’re now the man who no longer desires my love or my strength.
I release you from the promise you made to me, and I hope you do the same to me.
I was twenty and in love and foolish, and while it felt good to dream for a while, we must now face reality, for both our sakes.
Thank you for loving me since we were children.
Thank you for the things you showed and taught me. You will forever be my dearest.
Your heart,
Olivia.
Manchester, England. May 1983.
As he drove steadily across the massive estate’s rocky road, his nervousness grew with every second, and he considered pulling the plug on his entire plan for the millionth time.
It had been long, too long, and he wondered if she would even be interested in what he had to say.
Was he even in the right position to talk to her?
He wasn’t sure, but it was too late to give up. Too much time and effort had been spent to bring him to this house today.
Finding her had been the most difficult part. Many years after the war had ended, Olivia had moved away from Brighton, and she married a rich politician.
Now, she lived with him and her children on this estate. It was clear that she had moved on a long time ago, so why was he there to bring up the past?
At first, he thought his investigations might bring her some closure, but as he parked his car in front of the new house, where she lived her new life with her new family, he wasn’t sure if she needed it.
Conflicted, he sighed deeply as he turned off his engine. This was the part of his job he hated the most.
Picking up his bag from the car, he walked straight to the front door, inhaled deeply, and rang the bell.
Almost immediately, a maid appeared at the door, holding a cleaning brush and smiling pleasantly at him.
“Good morning, sir,” she beamed. “Welcome to the Arnold estate. How may I help you?”
He cleared his throat. “I’m here to see Mrs Olivia Mi- Arnold.”
“If you don’t mind me asking, why do you want to see her? She doesn’t get a lot of visitors.”
“I understand, but I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t important,” he replied, showing her his military badge.
Her eyes widened slightly, then she opened the door for him to enter.
“Please, come with me.”
The housekeeper closed the door behind them, leading him into a grand, opulent home that radiated timeless elegance.
The marble floors gleamed under the soft glow of crystal chandeliers hanging from towering ceilings, while the walls were adorned with tastefully framed art and mirrors that reflected the light, making the space feel even more expansive.
Rich velvet drapes framed the tall, arched windows that offered a view of meticulously manicured gardens outside.
Plush sofas and armchairs, upholstered in luxurious fabrics, were arranged in the spacious sitting room around a grand fireplace, where a crackling fire added warmth to the polished atmosphere.
Olivia sat in the living room, rocking in her chair and humming an old nursery tune as she knitted.
He stood in the hallway as the maid walked into the room to speak to her.
“Ma’am, there’s a man here to see you.”
She didn’t look up from her knitting.
“Who is he?”
“He’s from the military, ma’am.”
Olivia raised her head slightly.
She studied him from afar for a moment, trying to place the face, but her mind came up blank, so she gestured for him to come in.
“Very well then, let him in.”
Marie nodded slightly and waved for him to come, then she left them in the room.
“Please, come in,” Olivia said, motioning to a large sofa. “Have a seat.”
He walked in and sat on the chair, placing the document on his lap. She sat across from him, and he suddenly felt shy.
She was still as beautiful in her old age as she was in the old pictures he had seen.
“How may I help you, young man?”
“Mrs Arnold,” he said, clearing his throat. “My name is Paul. I’m a journalist from the British News Agency, Military Division. I’m here to talk to you about Lieutenant Leyton Harris.”
Olivia’s expression didn’t change.
She had heard the name so many times over the decades, it didn’t make her flinch anymore.
Paul was a bit disappointed and internally swore at himself. He had been right; of course she moved on already. He wished he could leave, but it was already too late for him to stop.
“You’re not the first person to find me in relation to Leyton, and you’re not the first one from the press either. Do you want something from me?”
Her expression was kind, but it held a form of sternness.
“No, no, ma’am. Actually, I found something I wanted to give you.”
He picked up his bag and pulled out an old letter, then it handed it over to her.
Olivia’s eyes widened as she collected the rumpled piece of paper and caught sight of the familiar handwriting.
She could immediately feel emotions from long ago wash over her anew, and tears glistened in her dull, grey eyes.
“I was gathering information for a documentary on the war when I found that letter. It was in the military archives with items that were recovered after the war but never claimed by anybody. The letter was addressed to your old house in Brighton, so I had to do some extra searching to find you here today. After I did, it just felt like the right thing to finally deliver it.”
After a long, silent moment, she looked at Paul with gratitude, and her voice trembled slightly when she spoke.
“Thank you for this, Paul. It means much more than you know.”
He nodded at her and stood up to leave.
“How old are you?” she asked, stopping him in his tracks.
“Twenty-three, ma’am,” he replied.
“Have you ever been in love before, Paul?”
He chuckled nervously, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “No, ma’am. I haven’t.”
She gave him a small smile.
“Don’t be too scared to let love go if the time ever comes for you too. Love will come again, and if you’re lucky enough to find another, never compare. Each love is its own.”
Paul nodded, forcing a small smile as he walked out of the room. He felt a certain weight behind her words that made him slightly uncomfortable.
Left alone in the silence, Olivia’s hands shook as she opened the letter and read its contents. The tears flowed freely from her eyes as she read his words, written so long ago.
It was dated a few months after her last letter over forty years ago.
Forty years. She had searched and waited for so long, wondering why he never wrote back, even after her last letter.
Forty years since she had mourned him, piece by piece, until the only thing left was the space he had once filled in her heart.
Had it been selfish of her to still hope, even after she had told him to let her go?
She didn’t know, but even after the long years passed, he still remained a part of her.
She had moved on and built a life and a family, but she had never stopped wondering why he did not return from the war.
What had happened to him? Had he suffered? Had he thought of her in his final moments? Was he angry at her for her decision?
She stared at his framed photo from the war, the one that hung on the wall beside her childhood photos, and she smiled.
Olivia read the letter again, and the tears poured down her cheek, hot and heavy with grief.
She’ll probably never know what happened to Leyton back in France; his body was never recovered, and he was reported MIA after the end of the war.
However, it comforted her to know that her soldier never stopped fighting for her.
May 5, 1943 – Somewhere in France
Olivia,
Your last letter reached me through the haze of war, and I feel as though it has pierced me more deeply than any wound I’ve suffered here.
I am so sorry that my silence made it seem like I gave up on us or that I didn’t need your love or strength anymore.
I wanted to write to you to tell you that I am still here, still fighting for Britain and for us.
But I feared that if I wrote, my words would be too heavy, too filled with the darkness that surrounds me.
I understand your decision to release me from my promise, and I am grateful for it.
The thought that you would have to wait indefinitely for me to return when I could no longer guarantee it was a burden that killed me to bear.
I should not expect you to wait for me anymore, and your strength in letting go is something I admire, even as it tears up my soul.
However, I promise you this: I will do everything in my power to make it back to you.
I will carry your love with me and take solace in knowing that your future will be free of the shadows of this war and the shadows I now carry with me.
I am forever grateful for you, and you will always remain in my heart.
Your dearest soldier,
Leyton.
A little throwback for the uninitiated.
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God, this is beautiful..