I go back to the main camp, still on foot, but I stop before passing through the gate. Already I feel my heartbeat picking up its pace. I’m not certain I can make my feet continue. As I hesitate before the sign, two women appear on either side of me, and I don’t have to turn my head to recognize them. My heart will always recognize those who hold it together.

“You didn’t have to come.”

“And you don’t have to do this alone. We decided to give you the opportunity to change your mind.”

A gentle warmth spreads over me, and I turn to Irena while she pushes a loose strand of hair away from her forehead. Her locks are dyed brown, a bit darker than what was once her natural color. According to Irena, the gray that has overtaken all of us makes her look old as hell. On my other side, Hania adjusts her raincoat. Her eyes, with wrinkles around the corners, glimmer even as they pierce the bleakness of this place. She won’t go even if I order her away.

More footsteps greet my ears. When their owner reaches my side, I kiss his lips, but if I nestle into his embrace then I won’t have the strength to emerge from it. I pull back at once.

“Maciek,” I start to say, but it’s all I manage before I meet his familiar blue eyes and the words catch in my throat. This gaze, the one that has always known me; this gaze, my refuge for so many difficult years, bringing moments of light into the darkness. This gaze and those moments, both found again when I set foot on American soil.

“Did you really believe we’d stay in Warsaw while you came here alone?” Mateusz asks with a small smile. The humor fades when he brushes a gentle hand over my scarred shoulder and drops his voice. “We’ve shared so little, Maria. All of us. Isn’t it time for that to change?”

He glances over his shoulder, and I follow his gaze to find our family waiting a few meters away. When we turn to them, Jakub and Adam, in the midst of conversing in Yiddish, fall silent. Izaak and my son, Maks, take in our surroundings with furrowed brows, while my daughter, Marta, stops pacing and faces us. Helena stands between Marta and Franz, and she takes a step closer.

“We’ll look around on our own if you’d prefer, Aunt Maria, but we . . .” Although the words trail away, the look in her eyes is no different from the others.