Chapter 28

April, 1917

Sweeping the floor of the main room at Lucinda's Inn, the quiet hum of the day making her feel at ease. The usual bustle had died down, with few guests staying in for the night. Lucinda had taken to the back to finish up some paperwork, and Rose, as usual, found herself helping out wherever she could. The familiar rhythm of the work gave her a sense of comfort, but there was an unease sitting at the back of her mind, an unease that had been building up since the news of the war had begun spreading.

Suddenly, the sharp ring of the telephone broke her out of her thoughts. The phone had rarely been used here, and the sound of it was still jarring to her, as it always seemed to signal something important. Rose quickly wiped her hands on her apron and rushed to answer.

"Hello?"

"Rose?"

Her heart skipped a beat, and a warm smile spread across her face when she heard the familiar voice. Jack. She hadn't heard from him in weeks, but that didn't matter. All that mattered was that he was calling.

"Jack, it's so good to hear your voice!" she said, feeling the weight of her own longing in her words. "How are you? How's your final project coming along?"

There was a long silence on the other end of the line, and Rose's smile faltered. She could hear Jack breathing, but something in his tone, something about the stillness, didn't sit right with her. It wasn't the usual warmth or cheer she'd expect from him.

"I'm fine, Rose. It's going great." he replied, his voice quiet and strained.

"Jack, are you sure you're all right?" she asked, her brow furrowing. Something was off—he didn't sound like himself.

Jack hesitated for a moment before responding. "Rose... I—I've enlisted."

Her heart seemed to stop in that instant, her breath catching in her throat. The words didn't make sense, and she couldn't wrap her mind around them.

"What do you mean, you've enlisted?" Her voice was a mix of disbelief and rising panic.

"I've enlisted in the military, Rose. I'm starting training in June, and by the end of the summer, I'll be on my way to France." His words were heavy, laden with finality.

Rose's stomach twisted into knots, and an overwhelming rush of anger surged through her. "You what?" she hissed, her grip on the phone tightening. "Jack, are you out of your mind?"

She could hear him on the other end of the line, breathing in deeply, as if bracing himself for what was to come. "Rose, please—"

"No!" she shouted, unable to hold it back any longer. "You—you've just decided to become some kind of war hero, haven't you? You've decided to throw yourself into this madness without even thinking about it, about us! We haven't even been at war for 48 hours, Jack, and you've already made up your mind?"

She could hear his pained exhale, but it didn't matter. Her emotions were running too high to hear him out.

"Rose, listen to me," he pleaded softly. "I had to do this. I can't just sit around while this is going on, whilst other men like me are dying. George is dead. It's my duty."

"Your duty?" She could feel her face flush with fury. "participating in this pointless war, shooting other men like you. You call that you duty? What about what we talked about? You promised me you would come back. And now—now you're going to France, to fight a war that has nothing to do with us. You're leaving. Again."

The anger was thick in her voice, but beneath it was something more—something deeper. A heartbreak she hadn't known how to voice until now.

"I've waited for years, holding on to the idea of what we would be in the future. To hold you again this summer, to hold you for good. And now you're going to make me wait even longer, not knowing if you're going to come back at all! What if you don't come back, Jack? What if—" Her voice cracked, the fear seeping into her words. She shook her head, taking a step back. "I won't be waiting for you if you go. I'll never forgive you for this!"

There was a painful silence on the other end of the line, and for a moment, Rose thought he might hang up. She almost wished he would—she wasn't sure she could bear hearing him try to explain himself anymore.

"I'm so sorry, Rose," Jack whispered. She could hear he was crying. "I never wanted to hurt you and I have thought long enough about it, but... I have to do this. The guilt would be too strong if I didn't."

Rose's eyes burned with unshed tears as she let out a bitter laugh. "You're doing this for some twisted idea of honor. I'll be here, alone again, waiting while you're over there, possibly never coming back. You don't get to choose this for me. You don't get to choose for us. I—"

"I didn't mean for it to be this way," he interrupted, his voice almost desperate.

But Rose was too far gone. "I don't want to hear it, Jack. Just go. Go to your war. Go play the so called hero you think you are. I'll never forgive you for this. Never!"

With those words, she slammed the receiver down with all the force she could muster, her body trembling with rage and grief. She stood there, staring at the phone as if it had betrayed her. The tears she had been holding back for months finally spilled over, but this time, they weren't just for Jack—they were for herself, for the future she had imagined.

When Lucinda appeared at the door, her face filled with concern, Rose didn't even acknowledge her at first. Instead, she turned away, walking out of the room, leaving the phone, leaving everything behind.

"Rose," Lucinda called softly, "what happened?"

"I don't want to talk about it," Rose snapped. The words were sharp, the anger still boiling inside her, but her voice trembled with the weight of it all.

She had walked for what felt like hours, her heart pounding in her chest, her mind a whirlwind of anger and heartbreak. Every time she closed her eyes, she could hear Jack's voice on the other end of the phone, every word like a dagger she hadn't been prepared for. I've enlisted. It was as if everything she had once held onto had been swept out from under her, leaving her in a chasm of disbelief and sorrow.

She didn't know where she was going. She just needed to leave. She needed to escape from the hurt that clung to every corner of the Inn, every moment she had spent holding onto the hope that Jack would return to her.

Finally, she found herself standing at the door of John's house. Her breath hitched in her chest as she knocked softly, but it was like a pull she couldn't resist. The door opened almost immediately, and John's warm, concerned gaze met hers.

"Rose," he murmured, his voice low and soothing. He could see the storm raging inside her, the tears that were threatening to break free. "What's wrong?"

She didn't have to say anything. The look on her face said it all. The weight of the pain was too much for her to carry any longer. The anger, the confusion, the heartbreak—it all came spilling out at once as she collapsed into his arms, her body shaking with the weight of everything she had been holding back.

John wrapped his arms around her tightly, pulling her into his chest, and she clung to him like a lifeline. His hands gently caressed her back, as though trying to soothe her soul.

"Shh, Rose," he whispered. "It's okay. You don't have to cry"

Her breath hitched as she pulled away slightly to look at him, tears streaming down her face. "John, he—he left. He chose to go to war, and—" She couldn't finish her sentence. The pain was too raw, too fresh.

John's hand cupped her face gently, wiping away her tears with his thumb. His gaze was soft, but firm, as though he was trying to steady her with the weight of his sincerity.

"Rose," he began, his voice calm and steady, "someone who truly loves you wouldn't hurt you like this. Someone who truly loves you wouldn't leave you without a thought. He may have thought he was doing something noble, but he's causing you so much pain. That man is a damn full and you don't deserve someone like that in your life."

Rose's breath caught in her throat, her heart aching at his words. She had tried so hard to hold onto Jack, to believe in the love they shared. But now, it felt like the world had crumbled beneath her.

John stepped closer, his eyes searching hers. "You don't need to carry this burden, Rose. You don't need to bear the weight of someone else's decisions. You can let him go."

Rose's eyes flickered to his lips, and before she could stop herself, she leaned in, her body reacting to his presence in a way she couldn't explain. John's lips met hers in a tender, slow kiss, as if he were telling her that it was okay to let go, that it was okay to feel something else, even if it was just for a moment.

The kiss deepened, and Rose allowed herself to sink into it, the warmth of his embrace a temporary refuge from the storm inside her. For the first time in what felt like forever, she didn't feel like she was drowning in sorrow. With John, she felt understood, and, for just a moment, free from the heartache that had been tearing her apart.

When they finally broke apart, Rose rested her forehead against his, her breath shallow, her heart still heavy but comforted by his presence. She closed her eyes, letting the moment wash over her, not thinking about the past, not thinking about Jack. Just being here, in the now, with someone who cared for her, who was offering her the peace she so desperately needed.

"I don't know what to do anymore," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I thought I loved him, John. I thought he loved me."

John's thumb stroked her cheek gently, his eyes soft but unwavering. "I know. But you deserve to be loved in a way that doesn't break you. You don't deserve this and he certainly doesn't deserve you.

….

Rose walked into her dressing room, her heart heavy from the weight of the past few days. She had been trying to keep herself distracted, throwing herself into her work, but the ache in her chest never seemed to go away. As she crossed the threshold, her eyes were drawn to the small envelope sitting on her dressing table. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw the handwriting—Jack's handwriting.

A sickening feeling washed over her, a mixture of anger, frustration, and grief all swirling together in her stomach. She stood frozen for a moment, her hand hovering over the letter, as if simply touching it would drag her back into the turmoil she had been fighting to escape.

But she couldn't leave it. She couldn't run from it. Not now.

With trembling hands, she picked up the letter and tore it open. Her eyes scanned the page, her breath catching in her throat as she read Jack's words.

My dearest Rose,

I know you are angry with me. You have every right to be angry with me. I've caused you nothing but pain, and I will carry that weight for the rest of my life.

I'm sorry, Rose. I'm so sorry for making you wait, for pushing you away when you needed me most. I can't undo what I've done, but I hope you'll find a way to forgive me one day.

The truth is, I enlisted because I couldn't bear the thought of doing nothing while others fought. I've seen the world change in ways I never imagined, and I can't be the man I want to be without doing something about it. But this decision isn't for you, and I know you'll never understand why I made it. I just couldn't stay back while the world burned.

I've been thinking about you constantly, and I've come to realize that I don't deserve your forgiveness. I know now that I can't ask you to wait for me. If you've found someone else, if John is good to you, then I am happy for you. I want you to be happy, Rose. You deserve nothing less. From you're previous letters, I've come to think of him as a kind and good man. And while it pains me to say it, I don't hold anything against him. I only wish for you to find peace.

If you ever decide to forgive me, if you ever decide that I am worth the fight, I'll be waiting. But until then, know this: I will fight for you, Rose. I'll fight because I know it's the only thing that will get me through what lies ahead. Please believe me when I say that I love you, always and forever.

Yours, Jack

The last few words seemed to blur in front of her eyes, her vision swimming as the tears began to well up in her eyes. She crumpled the letter in her hand, her heart breaking all over again. She wanted to be angry with him. She was angry with him. How could he leave her like this? How could he make this decision, knowing what it would do to her?

But there was no denying the love that still lingered in her chest, no matter how much she tried to bury it.

She sank into the chair in front of her dressing table, her head spinning. She had told herself that she was moving on, that she was building a future with someone else. John was kind, thoughtful, and steady. He gave her the love and stability that Jack hadn't been able to. But Jack's words… his confession… they cut through her like a blade.

He loved her. He was willing to fight for her, even if it meant sacrificing everything else.

Rose stood up abruptly, pacing the room as she tried to make sense of it all. She could feel the walls closing in around her. She had spent so much time focused on Jack, on what he had promised her, that she hadn't allowed herself to truly see what was in front of her.

A knock at the door interrupted her thoughts, and Rose wiped her eyes quickly, trying to compose herself. She didn't want anyone to see the weakness she was feeling right now.

"Rose?" Her co-star's voice came from the other side of the door. "You okay in there?"

Rose took a shaky breath and walked toward the door, putting the letter down on the table. "I'm fine, Vera," she said, her voice steady, though it felt like her heart was about to crack open. She pulled the door open and forced a smile. "Just a bit of a headache. I'll be fine."

Vera studied her for a moment, her eyes narrowing as if she knew something was off. But after a beat, she simply nodded. "Well, it's almost time for the show. Let's get you ready."

Rose nodded silently, her mind a whirlwind. As she followed Vera down the hallway, she couldn't help but glance back at the letter on the table. Jack's words lingered in her mind, but now, she wasn't sure if they would ever truly be enough to heal the wounds that had been left between them.

…..

The bar was dimly lit, the air thick with the smell of whiskey and smoke. Jack sat hunched over his glass, fingers lazily tracing the rim as he stared at the amber liquid inside. His head swam, his thoughts a chaotic mess of anger, regret, and something he couldn't quite name.

Rose's voice still echoed in his mind, sharp and unforgiving. And now, here he was, drowning his guilt in liquor.

A familiar voice cut through his haze.

"Penny for a thought."

Jack blinked and looked up. Clara stood beside him, the red silk of her dress catching the low light. Her dark curls framed her face, her lips curved in amusement.

"You again," Jack muttered, rubbing his temples.

Clara smirked, sliding onto the stool next to him. "You sound thrilled to see me."

Jack let out a dry chuckle. "Not thrilled to see much of anything right now."

Clara signaled the bartender, ordering a brandy. "Well, you looked like a man in need of company."

Jack exhaled heavily, running a hand through his hair. "That obvious, huh?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Jack Dawson, sitting alone in a bar, drowning in whiskey? You might as well be wearing a sign that says troubled man."

Jack shook his head with a bitter laugh. "Troubled doesn't even begin to cover it."

Clara took a sip of her drink, then studied him. "Tell me."

Jack hesitated, but the alcohol had loosened his tongue enough that he found himself speaking.

"I told Rose I enlisted."

Clara stilled, her fingers lightly drumming against the counter. "And?"

"And she's furious. Beyond furious." He exhaled. "She thinks I'm throwing it all away."

Clara scoffed, swirling the liquid in her glass. "So typical."

Jack frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"

She turned to face him fully. "It means some women only love the idea of a man. They love what he represents, but the moment he makes a choice they don't like, suddenly he's the villain."

Jack stiffened, an instinctive defense rising in his chest. "It's not like that."

"Isn't it?" Clara leaned in, her voice softer but laced with conviction. "You're doing something brave, Jack. Something honorable. And instead of supporting you, it sounds as if she is making it about herself."

Jack opened his mouth, but the words caught in his throat.

Clara reached out, taking his hand in hers. "She doesn't deserve you, Jack. If she doesn't understand how heroic this is, then she doesn't deserve you."

Jack swallowed hard, staring down at their joined hands. He pulled his hand away and reached for his drink, downing the last of it in one go.

"I need another," he muttered, voice thick with intoxication.

Clara hesitated before gesturing to the bartender. "Last one, Jack."

He scoffed but didn't argue. The room was already tilting slightly, and his limbs felt heavy.

When he tried to stand, the floor shifted beneath him, and he nearly lost his balance.

Clara caught his arm just in time. "Alright, that's it. You're done for the night."

Jack grumbled something incoherent, but he didn't fight her as she wrapped an arm around his waist for support.

"My driver's outside," she said firmly. "I'm not letting you stumble through the streets alone."

Jack sighed, too tired and drunk to protest. "Fine."

With slow, careful steps, they made their way outside into the cool night air. A black automobile was parked at the curb, its driver standing by the door, waiting.

Clara helped Jack into the backseat before sliding in beside him.

As the car pulled away, Jack let his head rest against the seat, his mind clouded with alcohol and exhaustion.