Chapter 1: The End of War

After the war finally ended, the camp girls did everything they could to latch onto soldiers, desperate to avoid being sent off to some grimy back-alley brothel.

That fear hung in the air like cigarette smoke, clinging to every word, every glance. The desperation wasn't subtle either—it was in the way girls fussed over their hair, pasted on brave smiles, and whispered in the dark about men who might be their ticket out. The mess hall, where laughter and tinny records once echoed, now pulsed with hope and dread.

When that quiet, dark-skinned sergeant came for me, there were only two of us left in camp: me, and an old working girl fading fast from illness.

His boots crunched on gravel, sharp in the morning hush. The scents of mud, army soap, and something heavier—regret, maybe—hung around us. He stood in the doorway, posture ramrod straight, like he was holding up more than just his own weight.

She laughed at me.

Her laugh was a torn-up cough, half humor, half the rattle in her chest. She leaned back on her cot, swatting at dust in the sunlight. "Maggie, if a man’s offering you a way out, take it. Who you holding out for—Pierce? He’s gone, honey."

Her words stung more than I wanted to admit. There was a glint in her eyes—like she’d seen this story a hundred times. She let out a wheezy sigh, shaking her head at my stubbornness.

I told her I needed to think about it.

I couldn’t quite meet her gaze. My hands twisted the loose threads on my blanket, silence filling the space where my words should have been.