Reincarnated: Vive La France-Chapter 48: Family

The morning at the barracks was full of monotonous rustle of paperwork, the scratch of pens against paper, and the occasional sigh of frustration or maybe not so occasional but full blown frustration.

Moreau sat at his desk, his sleeves rolled up, flipping through reports that needed to be signed, stamped, and sent to the proper channels.

Across from him, Renaud groaned loudly, rubbing his face as he leaned back in his chair.

"Merde, Moreau. How is it that we survive gunfights, betrayals, and military purges, yet I still think this might be what kills me?"

Moreau smirked, signing another document. "Paperwork is the real war, my friend."

"Then I surrender," Renaud grumbled, dropping his pen. "Court-martial me, strip me of my rank...I don't care. Just get me away from this damned desk."

Before Moreau could respond, a knock came at the door.

A young corporal stepped inside, standing at attention before handing Moreau a sealed envelope.

"This arrived for you, Capitaine."

Moreau blinked, confused, before taking the letter.

The moment he saw the handwriting, his breath hitched.

It was from his family.

For a second, he just stared at it.

Ever since he had woken up in this body, taking on the life of Étienne Moreau, he had avoided thinking about this part of his past.

He had embraced the duties of an officer, the mission of changing France's future.

But now, as he held this letter, the reality of his family hit him like a train.

A flashback surfaced.

Lyon, France.

Many Years Ago

The house wasn't grand, but it was comfortable.

A sturdy two-story home made of brick and stone, with wooden shutters that creaked in the wind.

His father, Henri Moreau, was a stern but fair man, a bureaucrat in the French government, handling administrative work for the Ministry of Finance.

He was always neatly dressed, his spectacles resting low on his nose as he worked late into the night with papers stacked high on his desk.

"Discipline and responsibility, Étienne. That's what keeps this country from falling apart."

His mother, Madeleine Moreau, was the heart of the family, a woman with a warm but no-nonsense demeanor.

She managed the house with military precision, ensuring that everything was in order from the meals to their education to their frequent scoldings when they stepped out of line.

"Étienne, don't slouch! And for heaven's sake, don't run inside the house..you're not a horse!"

Then there was his younger brother, Louis.

The boy had idolized Étienne, following him around, mimicking his mannerisms, and begging him to teach him how to hold a toy sword properly.

"When I grow up, I'll join the army too! Just like you!" Louis had declared once, puffing out his small chest.

"The army isn't a game, Louis," Étienne had told him, ruffling his hair. "You should aim for something better."

Louis had frowned. "But you're in the army. And you're the best!"

Étienne had just laughed.

Now, years later, in a different body, in a different time, those memories felt like ghosts pressing against his chest.

Moreau blinked, coming back to the present.

His hands were tense as he broke the seal and unfolded the letter.

My Dearest Étienne,

You have not written to us in weeks, and I am beginning to believe you have forgotten that you have a mother who worries for you.

Every day, I look out the window, wondering when I will see my son's face again. Have you been eating properly? Have you been taking care of yourself? Knowing you, you're probably drowning in work and forgetting to rest.

Your father says you are a man now, an officer, and that I should not coddle you. But a mother will always be a mother. I don't care if you are a Capitaine or a Marshal..I will still worry.

Your brother asks about you constantly. He wants to know when you will come home.

Lyon is the same as ever. The streets are busy, the baker still sells the best croissants in town, and your old friends still ask about you when they visit.

But it is not the same without you here.

I know the army keeps you busy, but you must write back. And if you can, tell us when you are coming home. It has been too long.

With love,

Maman

Moreau exhaled slowly, staring at the letter.

His fingers trembled slightly, but not from fear.

From hesitation.

This life had become his life.

He had thrown himself into it without question, accepting the role, the responsibilities, and the burdens.

But now, staring at his mother's handwriting, he realized how much he had ignored.

He had a family.

People who loved him.

Missed him.

And yet…

He didn't know how to face them.

Would they see through him?

Would his mother look into his eyes and notice the subtle differences?

Would Louis sense that the brother he once admired was not the same person anymore?

Before he could spiral further, Renaud's voice cut through his thoughts.

"Moreau, what's wrong?"

Moreau didn't respond immediately, still gripping the letter.

Renaud leaned in, squinting at the paper before smirking. "Ah, is this from Élise? Love letters already?"

Moreau shot him a flat look. "It's from my family, you idiot."

Renaud's grin faded slightly.

Moreau's expression must have been strange, because Renaud's teasing tone disappeared completely.

Instead, his voice became quieter.

"Are you worried about them? That this mess might reach them?"

Moreau blinked.

That wasn't what he had been thinking, but… he could use that excuse.

Before he could say anything, Renaud placed a firm hand on his shoulder.

"Listen, no matter what happens, your family is your family. They're there for you. They've written to you because they miss you, not because they're scared. If you've been avoiding them because of work, then it's time to take a break and see them."

Moreau stared at him.

He hadn't realized it before, but Renaud had completely misunderstood his silence.

But maybe… maybe that was for the best.

Moreau took a deep breath, looking back at the letter.

This body was his now.

This life was his now.

And if that was true, then so was this family.

His mother.

His father.

His brother.

They were his.

And he would live this life fully.

Moreau sighed, shaking his head.

"Merde. I suppose you're right."

Renaud grinned. "Of course I am. So, when are we leaving for Lyon?"

Moreau smirked, placing the letter carefully in his pocket.

"Pack your bags, Renaud. We're going home."