I close my eyes, returning to my family’s living room, where Mama and I had so many whispered conversations, imagining moments like this, helping to reunite families that had been torn apart. We cannot imagine what they have suffered, but we must do our part to ease it. The advice she had always given. As I whisper a silent thanks to her for her tireless efforts, her enthusiasm, her compassion, I sense her relief and joy as surely as my own.

When Hania has calmed herself, the mother provincial wipes a lingering tear from her cheek. “Would you like to see your sons?”

Hania takes a moment to find her voice. “They’re here?”

“After locating them, we brought them here as quickly as we could. I’ve explained the situation to them, so they realize they’re Jewish. And they are Jewish,” Mother Matylda adds, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. “No one who has come to us has been baptized against his parents’ wishes.”

Hania blinks, seeming too overwhelmed to process everything she’s heard. Another tear rolls down her cheek. She’s still clinging to Mother Matylda, as if releasing her would take away everything the mother provincial has returned to her.

“Before you see your children, Hania, you must remember they were very young when you were separated, and they—”

“They don’t remember me.” She dips her head in a small nod even though her voice wavers. “I understand, Mother. Please bring me my kinderlach.”

Mother Matylda beckons me. Once I’ve joined them, she coaxes Hania to her feet and disappears inside.

Hania’s shaking hand finds mine—hers a rich olive, mine as pale as Mama’s porcelain tea set. I imagine my mother holding Jakub’s hand, leading him through the sewers while cradling Adam in her arms, and I picture them here, in this very spot, filthy and exhausted but alive. The sisters would have cleaned and fed the children while Mama changed and bundled up her filthy garments to mask her work and then hurried home before my siblings awoke.

If only Mama had known that those children she rescued belonged to a woman who would one day rescue her own daughter.

When Mother Matylda returns, she leads two dark-haired boys by the hand. A small gasp emerges from Hania’s lips while her tremor reverberates in me as strongly as if it were my own. Jakub’s dark eyes evaluate us, first Hania, then me, then back to her, while Adam’s are large and curious. She takes a few steps closer to her sons, stops with apparent difficulty, and waits. Mother Matylda guides Jakub’s hand into Adam’s. Both wait for her direction, so she gives them an encouraging nod.