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élise pulled Rollant’s coat to her chest at the mention of his name. “But Rollant cannot protect me. He has to leave again. I should return and reduce any consequences I have incurred for being away.”

Sister Francine removed her hand and whispered, “I see.” She shook her head. “There are other options, élise.”

Their eyes locked. “What do you mean?”

“There is always God’s care, élise.”

élise scoffed. “I am not going to be a nun, if that is?—.”

“I’m not asking you to become a nun.” Sister Francine’s eyes drifted to the bruises littering élise’s skin.

“You have endured so much, and from what Rollant has told Sister Ingrid, much of it, you have endured alone. You are strong, with a strength many do not understand, but you don’t have to fight every battle by yourself.

I ask only that you give yourself the chance to heal. No one will hurt you here.”

élise’s fingers curled tighter around Rollant’s coat. Gabin’s rage loomed in her mind—his fist slamming into the counter, his accusations cutting deep. His cruelty had always been a constant, but leaving for days would surely warrant a punishment worse than any before.

“I can’t,” she murmured, more to herself than the nun. “If I don’t return, it’ll only make him angrier. It’s better to return now.”

Sister Francine’s hand was gentle but firm on élise’s shoulder. “Sometimes the hardest choice is to stop returning to the same hurt. Here, you can rest. Just for a little while. You deserve that much.”

The tears begged for release, but élise refused to let them fall.

Not again. She had a good life with bread, warm clothes, and a covered place to sleep.

And Gabin wasn’t always cruel. Sometimes, after a long day at the bakery, he’d leave the last scrap of bread for her.

Those moments, rare as they were, had been enough to make her believe she could endure the rest. To think of anything more only made the days harder.

“My child,” Sister Francine whispered. “I’ve seen people rise from the depths of despair.

I believe God guides us to where we need to be at the right time with the right people.

” She paused, offering élise a small smile and a cup of water.

“But whether you believe in that or not, I hope you find a strength of your own to carry you forward to peace in this life.”

élise finally wrapped a loose hand around the cup of water offered, letting its cool underside balance in her lap atop Rollant’s coat.

She stared at its soft, fluid ripples for a long moment, her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths.

The idea of staying in the hospital tent felt absurd, almost indulgent.

Yet the weight of her exhaustion pressed harder now, pinning her legs to the cot.

“It appears you have worked your body very hard to this point of illness,” Sister Francine said softly. “It has carried heavy burdens.”

élise turned her face away, her jaw tightening. “It’s nothing,” she murmured, her voice guarded. “I’m used to work.”

Sister Francine rubbed a small circle on élise’s back, her touch steady and kind. “We all have our burdens. But even the strongest shoulders can collapse under too much weight. Please rest here, élise. I believe the Lord sees our burdens. Let us carry some of it for you.”

élise sipped the water until she threw it all back and returned the empty cup to Sister Francine.

No one had ever offered to help her carry her burdens.

They only added to them. Her brow furrowed as she debated accepting the kindness and facing Gabin’s wrath when she returned.

She had been gone three, four days? What was one more?

The nuns’ calming presence soothed her and wore down her defenses. She reclined on the cot. Her head rested on the thin cushion, eyes fluttering shut. The conversation had exhausted her. She’d been foolish to think she could walk back to the bakery, even if she tried.

Sister Francine dabbed élise’s chest with the cool mint oil. “The world can be cruel, but it is not unkind forever. Here we will care for you. That is a blessing, whether you see it from God or the kindness of others.”

“I don’t believe in blessings, or curses for that matter,” élise said flatly, her voice cracking under the weight of her exhaustion.

“Belief does not come easily. But know there is always hope. Whether it is in God, or in people like Rollant, or in yourself, you are not without it.” Sister Francine’s voice softened further, a prayer barely spoken aloud.

“Rest now, élise. You’ll need that strength when the time comes to choose your path. ”

The soft lullaby of whispered prayers and distant hymns filled the tent, a gentle harmony that melted into her mind. Even if she never returned or could escape Gabin, she would remember this place, where people asked for water and rest without being scolded, beaten, or forced to work.

Her fingers still wound around Rollant’s coat, its weight a reminder of his silent, strong presence.

He’d come back for her in the middle of riots, stood up to Gabin, risked his own safety, and carried her to the charity hospital.

He had checked on her every day and still had not requested the return of his coat.

The thought filled her chest—not with gratitude, but with something warmer and, maybe, more dangerous.

It was a feeling too foreign to trust completely.

Her past had taught her trust meant peril, and safety was a ruse.

Rollant would leave again; men always wanted something, even the kind ones.

It made her ache. What kind of man did such things without expecting anything in return?

Or if he was like all the rest, what would he demand, and would it be worse than Gabin?

Soon, Sister Francine moved on to another patient and left élise alone to ponder the days’ worth of fragmented memories.

Regarding the nuns, the hospital was a tent, soon to collapse and be moved elsewhere.

They’d quickly forget her and the lofty promises of hope.

Promises cost nothing. Kind words were easy to speak.

The bakery, Gabin, was always going to be there. His rules were clear, brutal but reliable: pain for shelter, labor for bread, obedience for life. She’d accepted the costly barter.

Kindness without a cost didn’t seem right. It didn’t seem real, though it appeared genuine. Rollant hadn’t flinched when Gabin’s fists flew or wavered when she collapsed on the street. Even now, though the autumn nights were cool, he’d left his coat with her.

Perhaps not all men sought to own what they saved.

She pulled Rollant’s coat to her chin and turned to her side. His musk gave her peace in a way only his scent had.

As the faint hum of the Magnificat filled the tent, a tentative hope sparked in her chest, not for others, France, but for her own life. Perhaps survival didn’t always have to feel like a losing battle. Maybe, as Sister Francine had told her, there were other options.

Rollant’s coat, the hymns, the quiet care of the nuns—all of it hinted at a world beyond Gabin’s fists. She didn’t trust it, not yet. But for the first time, she wondered if she could, and she allowed herself to sleep deeply, lost in a potential world that could be hers.