PART 4 ​​– “I RETURNED TO MY CHILDHOOD HOME AFTER THIRTY YEARS — AND THE WOMAN WHO OPENED THE DOOR WAS HOLDING SOMETHING THAT BELONGED TO MY MOTHER”

Our old house was located on a quiet street, a few kilometers outside the center of Saint-Nazaire.

When I was a child, the yard was full of rose bushes.

My mother took care of them every Sunday.

Now, in their place were two small trees and a stone path.

I stood in front of the door.

— Are you ready? Theo asked me.

I wasn’t.

But I hit.

An elderly woman opened.

— Good morning?

— Sorry to bother you. My name is Josian Petit. I grew up in this house.

The woman looked at me carefully.

Then he opened his eyes wide.

— Zoziane?

I froze.

— Do you know me?

— I am Martin.

The name awakened a distant memory.

The neighbors’ daughter.

The girl we used to play with in the yard.

— Martin Dubois?

He smiled.

— Now my name is Martin Lefebvre.

We hugged awkwardly, like two people trying to bridge thirty years in a few seconds.

He invited us in.

The house had changed.

But the staircase was the same.

The wooden floor creaked in the same spot.

And the kitchen still had that window from which my mother would call me for food.

“I didn’t come by chance,” I told her.

I explained to her about Gerard.

For Theo.

About my father’s letter.

Martin listened to me without interrupting.

When I finished, he slowly got up.

— Wait here.

He returned holding a wooden box.

I felt my heart stop.

That was it.

My mother’s box.

— Where did you find it?

— When we bought the house, it was hidden behind a wooden panel in the attic. I tried to track you down, but I had lost your details.

I stretched out my hands.

The wood was worn out.

The small metal clasp had rusted.

I opened it.

There were photos inside.

Proofs.

Some old letters.

And a folder named:

HENRY PETTY.

Theo approached.

— This must be it.

I opened the envelope.

Inside was a handwritten note from my mother.

“My Zozia,

If you ever find this box, I want you to know that I tried to protect you.

When your father died, they told me he had disobeyed orders.

I was told that his decision had put others at risk.

I didn’t believe them.

But I was young, alone, with a baby in my arms.

And I was scared.

Years later, a man came to tell me that Henri had done the exact opposite.

He had saved lives.

This man was Gérard Lambert.

I told him not to come near you.

Not because I hated him.

But because I couldn’t bear to relive that day.

It was my mistake.

Forgive me.

I remained motionless.

My mother had died fifteen years ago.

And suddenly I felt like he was talking to me again.

— He knew Gerard… I whispered.

Theo nodded.

— Then it explains why my grandfather waited so long.

I looked at the rest of the papers.

There was an official document with a signature.

And below that, a handwritten note:

“To be handed over to Henri’s family, if a review is requested.”

“What is this?” I asked.

Theo took it carefully.

Read.

His face changed.

— Mrs. Josian…

— What’s going on?

— This appears to be a copy of an old deposition.

— Whose?

Theo looked up.

— By Louis Bernard.

My heart started beating fast.

— And what does he say?

The young man read the first lines.

Then it stopped.

— I can’t believe it.

I almost snatched the paper out of his hands.

At the bottom was a phrase underlined in red ink:

“The initial report does not accurately describe the decision of sailor Henri Petit to return to rescue the wounded.”

Below it was another one:

“The responsibility for the withdrawal order belonged to me.”

I felt my eyes fill with tears.

My father had never abandoned anyone.

He had tried to save them.

And someone had admitted it in writing.

Then Martin said something that made us both turn around.

— Zozia, there is still something.

I looked at her.

— What?

— When I found the box, he wasn’t alone.

He bent down under a cabinet and pulled out a small metal box.

— This was next to him.

He opened it.

Inside was an old military medal.

And a card with two words.

“For Henri.”

Theo looked at it carefully.

— This… he said slowly, maybe it’s the object my grandfather has been looking for all these years.

— Why?

The young man took out his cell phone and opened an old photo from his grandfather’s archive.

The same medal was visible in the photo.

Next to it, a handwritten note from Gerard.

“If this is found, we may finally be able to prove that Henri deserved to be honored.”

CONTINUED IN PART 5…