Zofia stared at me as if I were a stranger. No one spoke further, and I moved away from my family and into the far corner, crippled by the sheer magnitude of what I’d done.

When the truck stopped, the doors swung open, and we were greeted by a rifle barrel. The soldier wielding it motioned for us to get out. Mama scrambled out with shocking speed and rushed to another soldier who stood behind the first.

“Please, they’re children, for God’s sake.”

He grabbed her arm before she could say more, and she stiffened and fell silent. Tata climbed out next and reached for Karol, who was closest to the door, but a soldier shoved my father back while another pulled Karol out of the truck.

I’d never heard my brother or my parents shriek the way they did, then Mama’s cry rose above the rest.

“Let me hold him, please let me hold him!”

Her pleas grew louder and her struggles more frantic until her captor looked so irritated that he released her. She snatched Karol out of the other man’s arms, held him against her chest, and spoke to him in a soft voice while he burrowed into her. When she looked at Tata, an escaped tear glistened against her cheek.

As two more soldiers came forward to collect us, Zofia’s hand found mine. The soldiers let us proceed to the door on our own, probably to avoid another outburst from Mama. I gave Zofia’s hand a small squeeze for comfort, even though I didn’t feel capable of providing any. I knew exactly what sight would greet me when I stepped outside.

A wall of gray stone surrounded the massive complex. Even before the invasion, I’d always thought Pawiak was harsh and ugly, a blight upon a city of stunning beauty. Now it wasn’t just a hideous building. It was a manifestation of all my fears.

There’s a special place in hell for resistance members who get caught.

* * *

Auschwitz, 17 June 1941

“My parents and siblings were shot as soon as we got to Auschwitz. I was selected for execution, too, but I strayed, and Fritzsch placed me with a group of workers. My family was killed while I survived because Fritzsch happens to enjoy chess.”

As I finished my story, Father Kolbe didn’t respond right away, and I was grateful for the dark. I didn’t want to see the shock and disgust I imagined on his face. But when he spoke, his voice didn’t match the expression in my mind.

“What happened to your family is horrific. Words can’t express how much my heart aches for you, Maria.”