Upon those words, Hania gaped, then she narrowed her eyes, as if deciding whether or not to believe me. I took a deep breath to settle the heat racing through my veins. Threats didn’t mask the unspoken plea behind her dark eyes, eyes that bore pains unlike any I’d ever known, eyes that betrayed the war raging within her. I was someone she’d chosen to use to her advantage, no matter what it took. But I was also someone she’d befriended, despite her initial intentions, and I was a girl who had lost her parents, just as her children had lost theirs.

She wasn’t the same conniving woman I’d seen a moment ago. She was a young widow desperate to reunite with her children. My parents had felt this same desperation, surely, when they realized I was missing. When they realized my siblings were to suffer for my actions. When they realized all hopes of reuniting our family were to be stolen from them.

I crossed my arms against a burst of cold air, turned away, and spoke in a soft voice. “While working for the resistance, sometimes Mama and I would imagine life after the war. We were both looking forward to reuniting the children we helped with their parents. Such work would be an honor, but to do it for one of my closest friends . . .” I broke off with a shaky breath. “All you had to do was ask.”

When I looked at her, Hania stared into the distance, gone to a place far from here. Her tears glistened through the darkness before she blinked, as if coming out of a daze, brushed a stray tear, and spoke in a whisper. “Maria, I—”

I shook my head to stop her. We were creatures of war, and sometimes we’d morph into unrecognizable imitations of our former selves. I didn’t need her to apologize for something the war had created. I just needed her to be the woman I recognized again.

When I offered her my hand, she took it, and I stepped close enough to wipe another tear from her cheek. “We’ll find them, Bubbe. I promise.”

She gave my hand a gentle squeeze. “In a place like Auschwitz, it’s easy to forget decent people still exist.”

Back in my block, we sat on my bunk. As we huddled together with my thin blanket across our laps, life gradually returned to my fingers and toes, resurrected by a bit of warmth from the small wood-burning stove. It was insufficient for heating the space, but it was better than no heating at all. Other prisoners weren’t so fortunate.

“When the war is over, I’ll contact Irena and her mother, and they can help us,” I said, once my teeth stopped chattering. “Would you tell me more about your sons? How long has it been since they were smuggled out of the ghetto?”