The year is 1942 and Europe is at the height of World War Two. Mila Goldstein, a Dutch Jew living in occupied Holland, has signed on as an informant for the British Secret Intelligence Service (SIS). However, days before her assignment, a wounded Ge...
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New chapter for you guys before I work the entire weekend! This chapter has been one I've been both excited, and dreading to write! I hope ya'll enjoy it. Let me know what you think! <3
Mila walked down the sidewalk, her house coming into view farther down the street. She didn't know how long she'd been walking for. Truthfully, she'd been on autopilot since she'd walked out the Lingards' front door. She hadn't paid attention to how many turns she'd made, or streets she'd crossed. She'd just kept walking, and had somehow ended up on the familiar cobblestone her heels now clicked against.
She'd went from terrified, to angry, to numb in the course of her's and Catherine's meeting. Catherine had been right, of course ... Even if Mila hadn't wanted to admit it. She couldn't tell Josef about the pregnancy ... She'd known that all along. But the finality of hearing it from someone else had cut deeper than she'd ever thought it would. It was ridiculous for her to mourn something she'd never had to begin with. Catherine had been right about that too. The best life she could ever hope for with Josef was nothing more than a disillusioned idea she'd manifested in her head. An idea she'd allowed herself to believe could be real ... Allowed herself to fall in love with.
Shuffling up the front steps of her house, she pulled her key out of her purse. Turning the key in the lock, her front door clicked open, and she stepped inside. She slipped off her coat, hanging it, along with her purse, on the hook beside the door. Turning around, she jumped in surprise, her eyes falling on the figure seated in her kitchen.
"Josef..." She trailed off, confused. He sat, unmoved, at the kitchen table, his elbows resting on his knees, his eyes trained on the hardwood in a blank stare. "What are you doing here?"
"Do you remember that German officer who was shot in the west village a few months ago?" He began, his eyes still tracing the wooden grooves of the floor. "Well," He continued without giving her a chance to answer. "I was looking back over the evidence when I found something." He looked up at her for the first time since she'd walked through the door. His gaze was forlorn - empty. She took a cautious step forward. Something wasn't right. "Did you know the only thing found at the scene was a locket?" He pressed on. Holding up his left hand, which had been closed tightly in a fist, he opened it, a glint of gold catching Mila's eye as a necklace chain dropped out of his palm, hanging from the finger it was looped around. Herlocket. "This locket ... Which looks a lot like the one your mother gave you."
"Jos-," She began, her stomach twisting into a gut wrenching knot.
"I thought I was crazy for the thought even crossing my mind," He cut her off, standing to his feet. The deathly calm facade he had held until now was beginning to crack. "So I came here, but you weren't home," He explained, dropping the locket onto the kitchen table. "I thought I'd have a quick look around ... find the locket ... prove my suspicions wrong."
"You went through my things?" She asked, a lump forming in her throat.
"But I didn't find any locket. Instead, I found this," He continued without acknowledging her question. Reaching behind him, he pulled her gun out of the waistband of his pants. "Did you know this is a British Military issued revolver ... and the same type of gun used to kill Officer Weber," He said, his tone deathly calm again.
