Plates had been swept to the floor and lay in broken shards beneath the table, and off to the side, a violin case had been opened and upturned. The shattered remains of the violin lay beside it, a pink ribbon still tied around the neck. With unfeeling hands, she picked up the broken instrument and tucked the pieces back into the case, latching it securely. She placed it on the surface of the table and then bent again to retrieve a small wooden box, also tied with a pink ribbon.

She slipped the ribbon from the box and opened it. Two small, enameled pendants nestled on a cushion of velvet cloth. Both were oval in shape, three tiny red stones forming a bright row down the center. TO RACHEL AND AVIVA, the tag on the box read. LOVE, ESTELLE.

Estelle’s legs abruptly gave out, and she sat down on a kitchen chair, the sob that she had tried to suppress escaping. She folded her arms on the table and put her head down, trying to breathe through the hysteria that was hollowing out her stomach and filling her chest. She could have hidden Rachel too. She could have hidden Serge and Hannah but it was too late now. Too late. Too late.

She should have known this was coming. The buses, the clipboards of names—all of this had been planned a long time ago. She should have heard something. All that time she had spent amongst the Nazi officers and their minions and she had heard nothing. What good were her efforts if they couldn’t save the people she considered family?

Estelle bent over, weeping as if she might never stop. Great, heaving sobs wracked her body and blurred her vision. Yet as the minutes passed and she continued to cry, something new germinated deep within her, radiating through her limbs and calming her mind.

She thought she’d already known what hate felt like. She’d heard people say that unbridled hate clouded one’s mind and judgement, but for Estelle, the hate, or whatever it was that was coursing through her, was so pure and consuming that it brought everything around her into sharper focus. Colors seemed brighter, noises sharper, details more distinct. What also became clear was the absolute certainty that she would die before she let the Nazis who had already taken so much from her get to the souls hidden in her apartment.

She closed the little box and slid it into the pocket of her robe and picked up the violin case. On unsteady legs, she stood. From the corner of the kitchen, she fetched the large woven basket Rachel had once used at the markets. Moving quickly and quietly, she went through the apartment, adding items to the basket. A collection of books with bright illustrations and covers. A carved wooden dog, a knit doll, and as many items of Aviva’s clothing as she could fit.