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June 1944: Brécourt Manor: France
Chocolate was a sweet that could always be found in the pockets of Riley Wilson. She was in love with the taste and could let her senses be distracted by the rich flavour of the small square melting away on her tongue. Travelling through towns in different forms of transportation, Riley got to share her love with every child she came across, giving away every bit she owned, every single piece but one to keep. French children born in a time of the war had not once before been blessed by the flavour of chocolate, receiving it as a gift from a young woman who was only trying her best to have them grow up in peace.
Her father was the biggest chocolate lover she had ever met, he was the one who took a bar to his work, every single morning. Riley's father was known to her, memorised, sitting on his couch or the chair he'd love to claim with a piece of chocolate shared among him and his daughter. He was a great father. A good leader in the army too but Riley's father lived to be a dad. He adored her every move, his beating heart continuing to live in the name of his child.
Riley was blessed with her family, blessed to have their support and love. Even separated in war with each busy on the frontlines, they continued their journeys, let their stories be written with no thought of ending, in the name of each other. Letters did not once arrive, Riley never even dared to put their names on the paper as she was terrified of bringing her parents in danger due to her vocal dislike of the Nazi regime.
Riley's mother had no time to sit down and choose a pencil or take out a typewriter. As a nurse in occupied Belgium, she spent day in, day out, working on her patients. Every second of rest she got to fill with trying to sleep. The mother was exhausted, done with the war and told the doctors many times that she'd stop, but every new patient arriving got her back up on her feet. There was no time to send out stories, could really think of her family every second of the day, hoping to never see either one of them getting dragged, dying in her hands.
Riley's father attempted to write every single night if he got the chance to. As the second Lieutenant of the 82nd Airborne Division, Riley and her dad were much closer than they'd ever be able to imagine, separated by not more than one town. Yet letters to his daughter never seemed to be arriving, intercepted and kept under radars, scared of leakage in the female's knowledge.
The Lieutenant had been told about talent in the 101st, an informant they had picked up thanks to radio messages being spread across the continent that continuously talked of a system of resistances working together to share all information they could find. The same system that was the reason D-Day had succeeded was due to their achievements of cutting landlines and bombing bridges the night before. Not once was the name mentioned of the informant, and not once was the father told that his daughter was saving these countries.
