Alfie Solomons sat with a cigar in his mouth and cards in his hand.

"You make it too easy!" Alfie said as he laid his cards on the table and pulled the chips toward him.

"But-" Ollie sputtered, trying to figure out where he went wrong.

Alfie chuckled as he exhaled his smoke.

"I best be off." Ishmael said as he stood, collecting what he had left of his own chips.

"Yeah, Sarah will have your balls on a platter if you are later than curfew." Alfie joked.

"Don't I know it." Ishmael said with a shake of his head. "I just hope Daniel sleeps tonight."

"I couldn't imagine having a kid right now." Ollie piped in.

"Yeah well, you'd have to stop fucking around if you had a child." Ishmael said as he ruffled Ollie's hair like he was a child himself.

"What about you?" Ollie asked Alfie as Ishmael left the building. "You want kids some day?"

Alfie thought for a moment and said, "Like Ishmael said. I'd have to stop fucking around." He shrugged. "One day perhaps. But not today."

A month later Alfie was sitting in his office when Ollie brought in the post.

"This one came from France." Ollie said as he held up an ivory envelope.

The envelope had multiple stamps, as if it had gotten lost repeatedly. Alfie held out his hand and looked at the return address. Recognizing the name, he waved Ollie off and closed the door behind him.

He tore open the envelope and began to read,

Monsieur Captain Alfie,

Please know I would not be writing to you if it were not absolutely necessary. The end of the war was a wonderful thing, our celebrations bring great memories to mind. While I never intended to bother you with the repercussions of our celebrations, I am afraid I no longer have a choice. Months after you left, I gave birth to a little boy. He is so beautiful with his large dark blue eyes and his unwillingness to give up. He gets that from his father. Unfortunately, the end of the war also brought unemployment and though I will never take back the years I spent as a nurse, nurturing soldiers back to health, I am afraid there was no work to be found. When my stomach began to grow, it became harder to find employment and I had to take a small position washing dishes at a café. It did not pay much but I was able to bring my son and we could survive off of the meager wages I was given. A year ago, I was released from my duties and have not been able to find work again. Our savings are depleted, and I have no incoming money. I have been approached by a man who has offered me money to "lay on my back" but I am too proud a woman to succumb to such depths. I am willing to starve on behalf of my pride, but I cannot willfully inflict such horrors on my son, nor could I look at him every day knowing the food I fed him came from allowing brutal men to have me. I am not asking for money, monsieur, I am asking for something greater. My heart breaks in my request but I am afraid I have no other option. I ask that you please take my son into your care and allow him to thrive with you in England. I will miss him with every breath of my being, but I must do what is best for him. I believe being with his father is what is best. I have enclosed a photograph for you to view and make your decision.

All my very best,

Odette Babin

Alfie sat for a moment staring at the parchment before releasing a breath and looking in the envelope. He slowly pulled out a photograph of a young boy, maybe two-years-old, and stared at it.

"Fucking Hell." He whispered as he looked at the boy who was identical to the boy in the photograph of Alfie and his mother that sat on his desk.

Running a hand over his eyes, memories of Odette flooded his mind.

He had almost died, a bayonet had gotten so close to his face, it sliced his cheek almost off his face, along his jaw. He and his men had arrived at a French military hospital and a young woman with dark blond hair came to him, her almond brown eyes wide.

"Oh my! Your face. Monsieur, sit down quickly before you faint!" She said to him, pulling him to a chair.

Alfie sat and watched her rush to find a doctor.

"You'll have to do it yourself! I have to amputate this arm!" the doctor told her.

"You can see the bone of his jaw, Doctor! I have only done small sutures, I cannot possibly-"

"You don't have a choice!" He told her with a sympathetic look on his face.

When the woman turned back to Alfie, she looked at him nervously. "Um, Monsieur, I-"

"I want a big scar." Alfie said with a nod of his head.

"What?"

"Yeah, something mean!" He added with an ornery smile. "I want people to see me walking down the street and think I got into a fight with a fucking bear."

"You are not serious?"

Alfie turned to her, "I am! And if you don't make me look mean, I will tear them out and we will start over."

The woman gave a small, bashful chuckle. "Alright. I will give you a large scar, just as you request."

She did her best, sweat budding on her brow as she sewed his cheek together. Alfie didn't care how he looked. The doctor was right, he was just glad his head wasn't kabobbed, so he tried to ease her nerves.

"I am finished, Monsieur Captain." She said after a while.

"Alfie." He offered.

"Monsieur Captain Alfie." She retorted and Alfie chuckled.

"And your name, Nurse….?"

"Odette." She said as she cast her eyes down and then proceeded to look up at him through her lashes.

"Odette." He repeated as he used his thumb to stroke her cheek.

It wasn't long after that that the war ended, and celebrations took place around the country. Alfie and Odette were no exception. They celebrated multiple times before Alfie was sent back to England. Now, nearly four years later, he was staring at a photograph of a young boy, born in France, that had his looks. A boy that was his son.