“And now, Mom, now you can . . .”

When the front door couldn’t withstand longer, it fell heavily backward, into the hall, and the bang was as loud as a gunshot. Zofia barely had time to close the hatch, close the closet door, and turn around. That was it. Then they were in front of her.

Chapter 47

We heard children’s voices.”

They cut off the escape route between an unmade bed and a closed closet. They were taller and wider than Piet, intense and at the same time in command, and they were carrying guns she’d never seen before. Their black masks made their eyes animal-like, staring and aggressive.

“Little boys. Your boys.”

Zofia had often imagined this. Not because she wanted to experience pain or anxiety or because she was trying to understand what Piet had experienced so many times. It was to prepare herself. As if she’d known for a long time that life would bring her to this moment.

“I used to know your husband a bit back in the day. And I happen to know he has not one, but two boys—the ones I just heard.”

But now that it was happening, she didn’t feel the way she’d always expected to. She wasn’t shaking. It wasn’t hard to breathe. She wasn’t afraid.

“You don’t wanna talk? No problem. We’ve searched for children before, found them under beds and behind shelves, dragged them out against the protests of their hysterical parents and done what we came to do. But that was just a job. Pay the rent, put bread on the table.”

Because fear came from being lost, filled with doubt—and she had no doubts. She knew exactly what she was going to do. What she had already done. Protect her children. Her only task. Every thought and every tense muscle revolved around Hugo, Rasmus, Luiza. If she didn’t sink to the floor even though her legs didn’t want to carry her, didn’t scream even though this weight on her chest wanted out, didn’t cry and beg and give the bastards something of her own. If she just held on to this and never, never, never let go, there was nothing to fear.

“But this time, Mrs. Hoffmann, this isn’t about bread. This is personal. I once had a little boy too. Who died. And I never got to say goodbye—your husband made sure of that.”

The man who was talking stood in front of her with his predator eyes, while his assistant walked from room to room. Opened cupboards and turned over furniture. When he came back, he politely asked her to move, he was going to examine the bedroom closet.

She didn’t move.

Until he hit the butt of his gun against her forehead. The metal dug deep and no matter how much she focused, she couldn’t stand it, she fell back and the two masked men were able to open the closet. Look into it. See that it was empty.