I sat up, alarmed, trying without success to see her in the blackness. Neither she nor the baby were there. “Mama!” I called, not caring about the others sleeping or about being too loud. Then I leapt to my feet and raced out of the chamber.

Mama was not outside the door. Had she really gone? I ran down the tunnel to the larger pipe. There I found her standing in the dark, holding the baby, not seeming to feel the cold water that seeped ankle-deep into her stockings. At first I wondered if she was sleepwalking, but her eyes were open and clear. She had left the chamber on purpose.

“Mama, what are you doing?” She did not answer. “Were you trying to leave?” She did not have her satchel, I noticed.

She stared off blankly into the space before her. “I was looking for a way out.” I started to protest that she did not know the path. She was not talking about escaping just the tunnel, though, I realized, but this whole impossible situation that bound us. I wondered where she would have gone or what she might have done if I had not come and found her.

For the rest of the night, I lay with my body half atop Mama’s to keep her in place, my cheek pressed firmly against her delicate shoulder. I slept lightly, if at all, waking at her slightest move. I needed to make sure that she did not try to slip out from under me.

But the next morning, I woke late, tired from poor sleep. Mama was no longer beside me, yet whether I had rolled away or she had slipped from beneath my grasp intentionally, I did not know. I sat up with a start. I saw her across the chamber, preparing breakfast as she always did while cradling my sister in one arm. My body slumped with relief. Perhaps she had forgotten or given up on the notion of leaving.

Then I saw something sitting at the foot of the bed. It was the satchel, neatly packed. Mama was leaving.

I leapt up just as she crossed the chamber toward me. “What are you doing?” I demanded.

She passed me the thin piece of potato that was my breakfast, then tucked a second piece into the satchel. “Taking the baby, like we discussed yesterday.” Her voice wavered.

“No!” How could she possibly send my sister away? Bubbe Rosenberg was right, though. It was only a matter of time before the Germans heard my sister crying and discovered us. She could not stay here. The hospital was at least a chance. “But with Pawel gone, how are you to get the baby there?”

“I will take her myself.”

“Mama, you can’t possibly. You’re still weak from giving birth. At least let me take her. I have been above ground. I can find my way.”

She shook her head. “I need to take her myself. I have to see with my own eyes that she’s safe.”