Lulu walked up to the first bed. “Hello, do you know this little girl?”

The woman looked up. “No…no…don’t know…” she said in broken, accented English.

“What language do you speak?” Ryan asked.

“Croatian.”

“Could you speak to her in Croatian?” Lulu asked. She came closer and turned Blondie to face the woman.

The woman said something, a few sentences, and we waited for a reaction or response. Nothing.

“Sorry,” the woman said. “Not Croatian…maybe Swede.”

“We’ve tried that. She’s not Swedish.”

“Poor little baby,” the woman said sadly. “So many lost…so many.” She looked as though she was going to burst into tears.

“Thanks for trying,” Lulu said.

We continued down one row and came back along the other. I followed behind, showing my family photo. Some people just shook their heads. Others asked questions or even reached out and took my hand, offering sympathy or encouragement to keep going, to not give up hope.

That was the hardest. I was starting to lose hope. My father was gone—I still had trouble believing that was real—and my mother and brother were lost. If they were alive, why hadn’t they called somebody, why weren’t they on a list, why hadn’t we connected, why didn’t anybody even recognize them? I had to keep looking, but what I really wanted to do was curl up in a little ball and go to sleep. Maybe that was what I needed. I could sleep and then get up in the morning, filled with more energy and hope, and start looking again.

“That’s strike one,” Ryan said as we exited the first ward.

The next corridor was filled with people, and the wall was lined with makeshift beds. Ryan and Lulu kept asking questions and I kept showing my photo.

We stopped at a man with his eyes closed. He had one arm in a cast and a line dripping into his other arm from an IV bag on a pole. He was asleep—or unconscious.

“Should I wake him up?” Ryan asked Lulu.

“I think so. We can’t take a chance.”

“Excuse me,” Ryan said as he gently nudged the man. He didn’t move or open his eyes. Ryan looked up at Lulu.

“Give him a little shake,” she suggested.

Ryan pushed his shoulders and the man opened his eyes. He looked groggy, half asleep, or so heavily medicated that he wasn’t all there.

“Sorry,” Ryan said. “Do you know this girl?”

The man opened his eyes wide. He looked confused, frightened. He looked at Blondie and then at me.

“Do you know her? We’re looking for this little girl’s family?”

He muttered something in a language I didn’t understand and then turned to face the wall.

“I guess that’s a no,” Ryan said. “I hated doing that. Poor man looked to be in a lot of pain.”

“There was no choice,” Lulu replied. “We owe it to Blondie and her family.”

We walked into the second ward. It was almost identical to the first, orderly and organized, so different from the corridor—so different from what was outside the doors.