When the World Fell Silent

by Donna Jones Alward

was more than ready to enlist with the Canadian Army Medical Corps to do my part as a nurse—a Bluebird, named after the blue-and-white uniforms we wore.

Men could do what they wanted. They didn’t have to fight for the right to work and vote or even be considered an actual person in the eyes of the law. And men weren’t the ones to “get in trouble” and face hardship and social censure when a baby came along, even though they bore half the responsibility.

It had been eleven days since the explosion. Two months since Alley’s departure and he’d not sent a word. Nor had he appeared on any casualty list. He’d simply… vanished. As if what we’d shared hadn’t even existed, except I had the proof that it had.

Because I’d come to the startling realization that the child sleeping on my bed at this moment was not my daughter.

I’d thought love meant settling and perhaps even boredom, but the reality was so different. It was kindness and patience and steadfastness. It was knowing what the other person needed and doing it with a glad heart, not for any sort of reward other than love itself.

Fun was a rather fragile, transient concept on which to base a relationship or way of life. It didn’t last.

“I thought I understood what love was, but now I know what it’s not. It’s not being swept off my feet and romanced, not about being reckless. It’s about being with someone who sees you at your worst and loves you anyway. Who knows what you need and gives it unreservedly.”