A/N: Good evening everyone! I'm sorry for taking so long but I really wasn't able to update this fic sooner. As some of you may know, real life events got in the way of things. Same with my other fics. But September has come and I've been trying to be productive with my writing. There's a new fic on the making, and the old ones being written (and so many ideas for future stories. Oh so many!) Thank you all for your patience and for your support :D

Hope you enjoy this chapter. There's good news for John!

Disclaimer: Same as chapter 1-11.


This watery soup somehow reminded him of his mother's, but it couldn't be more different even if he tried to pretend it was. The two older children played outside and on Nadine's breast a little babe nursed eagerly, the only one of them who was properly fed.

John stared at the baby, his spoon hanging in his hand. His mind took him far away, to a place where his wife, and possibly his child, were waiting for them. 'What's his name?'

'Jean,' Nadine replied smiling down at her child.

'Beautiful name.'

'Do you think your child was born already?' It was Pierre who asked, joining them at the old wooden table.

'Maybe,' John sighed, resting the spoon in his empty bowl.

'Don't you worry. He'll be there when you go back home,' Nadine reassured.

'I just wish I was there already. I hate not being there.'

The couple eyed each other, feeling sorry for the man. 'I'll have to go to the village, to try to find some vegetables and bread.'

'I'm sorry, with me here it's just so much more difficult for-'

'Non! Don't say that.' Pierre rested one hand on his shoulder, before continuing. 'Now listen, I may have a way to...take you out of here.'

John sat up straight at once. 'What?!' Paying all his attention on what Pierre told him.

'Maybe. Don't know for sure. But maybe.'

'What do I need to do?' John asked, his heart was racing terribly on his chest.

'For now, nothing. I'll tell you more when I come back.'

'Thank you, Pierre,' John smiled, very moved. Was this it? Was this the beginning of his journey home?

'You're welcome, my friend. You're welcome.'

xxx

My Lovely One,

You'll hate me saying it, but I despair writing this. I despair with every passing day. I despair with not knowing what's happening, what has happened. Is our child born? Are you well? Is Mother doing better from her back pain?

I miss the little things more than anything. Your laughter. The way you sweeten my tea, the way you tuck your hair behind your ear when the book you're reading is far much interesting than what you had thought. I miss walking barefoot on the wooden floor, the pressure of a newly sharp razor against the skin of my face. I miss Mother's soup. I miss her scoldings, the way she rolls her eyes at me whenever I say something she doesn't agree with.

I miss going out for tea with you, and the way you devour those chocolate muffins I always find too sweet. How can you like them is beyond me, but watching you eating is much enjoyable. Probably one of the best things in the world to watch. I wonder if you ate much of those muffins, or if you still do, if our child has made you desire such intense sweetness.

Our child. I'm sure you're already holding him, or her, in your arms, and I hate thinking that I'm not there to witness such tender moments. You nursing, rocking the baby to sleep, telling him all about us, how we met, how much he looks like me. You know, Pierre and Nadine have a little baby too and whenever she cries, during the night, I think I'm back home, with you. I never am, and my heart breaks not knowing when I'll be. I hope soon. Soon.

Tell Mother I'm well. I'm being taken care of. Pierre and Nadine are friendly people. Take care, my love. Tell our child I love him, or her, so very much, as I love you.

With all my love,

John Bates.


Thank you for reading :)