The Nightingale

by Kristin Hannah

In love we find out who we want to be; in war we find out who we are. Today’s young people want to know everything about everyone. They think talking about a problem will solve it. I come from a quieter generation. We understand the value of forgetting, the lure of reinvention.

Perhaps that’s why I find myself looking backward. The past has a clarity I can no longer see in the present.

I always thought it was what I wanted: to be loved and admired. Now I think perhaps I’d like to be known.

She wanted to bottle how safe she felt in this moment, so she could drink of it later when loneliness and fear left her parched.

Why was it so easy for men in the world to do as they wanted and so difficult for women?

“Don’t think about who they are. Think about who you are and what sacrifices you can live with and what will break you.”

“You’re not alone, and you’re not the one in charge,” Mother said gently. “Ask for help when you need it, and give help when you can. I think that is how we serve God—and each other and ourselves—in times as dark as these.”

In his face, I see the whole of my life. I see a baby who came to me long after I’d given up … and a hint of the beauty I once had. I see … my life in his eyes.

“But love has to be stronger than hate, or there is no future for us.”

Then, I saw tragedy in it; now I see beauty.

“I’m a Rossignol,” I say quietly. “A Nightingale in my own way.”