# **The Last Letter from Emma**

**June 12, 1944**

The letter arrived on a Tuesday.

I remember because that was the day the bakery down the street was bombed, and the scent of burnt sugar mixed with gunpowder hung in the air. The mailman, a gaunt man with hollow cheeks, pressed the envelope into my hands like it was a live grenade.

*"For you, Captain. From France."*

My heart stopped. The handwriting was hers. **Emma’s.**

But that was impossible.

Emma Laurent had been dead for two years.

---

### **The First Letter**

I met Emma in the spring of 1942, when my unit was stationed in a small French village near Normandy. She was a nurse with **eyes like storm clouds** and a voice that could calm dying men.

We weren’t supposed to fall in love. War doesn’t pause for romance.

But one night, under a sky thick with stars, she pressed a letter into my hands.

*"Read this when the fighting is over,"* she whispered. *"Promise me."*

I kissed her instead of answering.

The next day, the Germans raided the village.

I never saw her again.

---

### **The Secret in the Envelope**

Now, two years later, I tore open the letter with shaking hands. The paper smelled faintly of lavender—her perfume.

> *"My dearest James,*

> *If you’re reading this, I am already gone.*

> *But I need you to know the truth.*

> *Our child is alive."*

The world tilted.

**A child.**

My hands trembled as I read on.

> *"Her name is Sophie. She was born in secret, hidden with a family in Lyon.*

> *Find her. Love her.*

> *And never tell her who her real father was.*

> *—Emma"*

Real father?

**What the hell did that mean?**

---

### **The Truth in the Ashes**

I deserted my post that night.

It took me three months to track down the family in Lyon. The house was a skeleton of charred wood—destroyed in an air raid.

But in the rubble, I found a doll. A tiny, hand-stitched rabbit with one button eye missing.

A neighbor, an old woman with a cane, grabbed my arm.

*"You’re him, aren’t you?"* she hissed. *"The soldier Emma loved?"*

My throat tightened. *"Where’s the child?"*

She looked at me with pity.

*"The Germans took her. Said she was ‘special.’"*

Special.

The word slithered down my spine.

**Because Sophie wasn’t just my daughter.**

She was the daughter of an SS officer.

Emma’s secret.

---

### **The Last Goodbye**

I never found Sophie.

But I still have the doll.

And on quiet nights, when the war feels like a nightmare I can’t wake from, I whisper to the empty air:

*"I would’ve loved you anyway, Emma."*

Even if it destroyed me.

---

### **Why This Works on Vocal.media**

✅ **Short paragraphs** for easy reading.

✅ **Mystery hooks** (Why is Emma’s child "special"?)

✅ **Emotional gut-punch** (Tragic twist ending).

✅ **Strong sensory details** (burnt sugar, lavender perfume).

Would you like me to adjust the tone (more romantic vs. tragic) or expand on certain parts? 😊