Cold, damp air struck her as she walked outside. The guard who prodded her across the prison grounds wore a long woolen greatcoat and leather boots. Ans wore only a sweater. She didn’t need to be encouraged to hurry. The guard led her to the administration building, where she’d been forced to strip on the first day, then left her standing for more than an hour while the clerks behind the desks ignored her. At least the building was warm. She tried not to imagine what punishment she might face for singing and praying with her fellow inmates. She feared solitary confinement most of all.

At last, one of the clerks called her name and motioned her forward. “According to our records, you’ve served your sentence for breaking curfew,” he said. “You’re being released.” Ans grabbed on to the edge of the desk to steady herself. He shoved her bag into her hands with the blouse and slacks she’d been wearing when she’d been arrested in Woerden and said, “Get changed.” She knew better than to ask for privacy and quickly slipped off her prison gown. Her body was so thin and malnourished, she almost hoped the guards would stare and that they would feel ashamed. Her clothes still stank of vomit from the night she’d been arrested.

Ans couldn’t imagine freedom. She hadn’t dared to imagine it. But unless this was a cruel joke, she was about to walk out of Vught Prison a free woman. She wished she could run back to the laundry and say goodbye to the women she’d worked with and then stop to encourage her friends in the barracks to remain strong. Would her release give them hope that their freedom would come soon —or would it fill them with despair at being left behind? Either way, the prison authorities weren’t going to give her a chance to go back.