It was the wrong thing to say, and I knew it as soon as I heard the words. I opened my mouth to make a desperate attempt to salvage the conversation, but Zofia erupted.

A sudden flash of movement, then a few chess pieces clattered against the table and fell to the floor. Gasping, I dove after them, but I’d hardly collected them before she knocked a few more off, encouraged by my protests. An angry shout—probably from Mama—rang in my ears in the midst of Zofia’s third attack, and I pushed her back with the hand not clinging to chess pieces. Undeterred, she lunged again. I screamed at her to stop, blocked her with my arm, and wrestled her away, because if the little brat broke my chess pieces . . .

“Girls.”

The quiet, firm tone was one we both knew better than to disobey. We froze. I clutched the chess pieces to my chest, refusing to loosen my grasp or lower the arm that held my sister back, and Zofia remained folded over me, one hand centimeters from the board. I tried not to wince upon meeting Tata’s unrelenting gaze.

“That’s enough.”

Usually when his voice carried that particular note of warning, not even Zofia would persist. This time nothing could douse the flames of her temper, not even Tata’s reprimand or Mama ordering me to the convent now and Zofia to the dishes immediately. With a furious huff, she pushed me away, stomped to our bedroom, and slammed the door behind her. The silence that followed was suffocating.

During my past few months of resistance work, I’d delved into the heart of lies, danger, and rebellion, a world far removed from my sister’s. The war had forced us apart, but until the danger had passed I didn’t see a way to remedy it. As I combatted the tears blurring my vision, I made sure none of the chess pieces had been damaged by Zofia’s tantrum. Mama came to her knees beside me, and I ran my fingers over the black queen. My chess pieces were intact, but somehow I felt as if they weren’t.

When Mama brushed a few stray hairs from my forehead, I spoke in a whisper. “Can’t I tell her?”

She sighed and covered my hands with her own. “All we can do is pray this war ends soon.”

A stalemate until things changed. If they ever did.