* * *
One night in September, I was lying in my sparse cell in the convent, looking up at the crucifix on the wall above me. The moon was full, and the room was too bright. I couldn’t get comfortable, and I had been shifting and wriggling, trying to figure out how to make my alien body feel mine again. When I finally stilled, the wriggling continued, only now, I wasn’t doing the wriggling. There was a distinct and startling shift in my belly.
Over two months had passed since Sara had gently told me I was pregnant, but for the very first time I was forced to confront the reality of what those words meant.
I was going to have a baby, but it could never be my baby. I could no more claim that child as my own than I could claim the destruction of Warsaw was for the best.
I tentatively reached down to skim my fingers over my belly for the first time. I was so careful to avoid touching that bump as it grew, but now, I let my fingers explore the new landscape. I felt the wriggling again and, this time, tried to picture what a baby inside me might look like.
Images swam in my imagination—the spitting, snarling hate of strangers in Red Army uniforms—and I broke out in a cold sweat. I rolled onto my side and curled my legs up, not protecting my belly but almost guarding myself against it. How could a child conceived in that way be anything but ugly and destructive?
The next day, I made myself a calendar. Sara had told me the baby would come at Christmastime, so I marked a box for every day until then.
One hundred and eleven days. I just had to survive one hundred and eleven more days until my body could be mine again, and I promised myself that, once it was all over, I would never so much as think of that baby ever again.
* * *
“Have you heard any news of Roman?” I asked my parents one day. They hadn’t mentioned him since my move to the convent, and I couldn’t help but wonder if they were trying to protect me from bad news. “If there’s something wrong, you can tell me. I’d rather know.”
“I promise, Emilia, we haven’t heard a thing, but I don’t think you need to worry,” Mateusz said quietly. “Most of the insurgents were sent to camps in Germany. He’s probably still trying to make his way back to Warsaw, and once he does... Well, you’ve seen the city. It may be some time before he surfaces.”
“If he does find me...find you...” I drew in a deep breath, then closed my eyes “...you can tell him what has happened, but I don’t want to see him yet. Please don’t tell him where I am.”
I opened my eyes just in time to see the glance they exchanged, but for a moment they were silent, until at the very same time Mateusz said, “That’s your decision,” and Truda said, “You should let him visit. He will try to help.”
“He will want to tear this thing out of my body just as I do,” I snapped at Truda, gesturing vaguely toward my belly. “You saw him that day at the convent. He was wild—out of control. I love Roman, but he doesn’t know how not to fight, and he would approach all of this in the exact same way.” I ran out of steam and slumped as I admitted, “I just cannot deal with his anger and mine at the same time.”
Truda linked her hands and leaned forward across the table.
“Then, tell me, Emilia. What exactly do you want us to say to him when he returns?”
“Tell him the truth,” I said, stiffening my spine and brushing my hair back from my face. “Tell him I love him, but that I need time to figure this out.”
37
Roman
Kacper was safe with his family at long last, and having watched the emotional reunion he shared with his parents, I was more than ready for an emotional reunion of my own. I stood at the door to Piotr’s apartment, glancing between that intact door and the gaping space where my old home used to be. There was a sheer drop down into the courtyard just a few feet from Piotr’s door, a space now full of rubble, surrounding a surprisingly robust apple tree.
I raised my fist and knocked. There was movement inside the apartment, and then the door opened. Mateusz was there—dressed in a uniform I didn’t recognize. He gasped, then he opened his arms and embraced me. He thumped me on the back and squeezed me tightly, then all but dragged me into the apartment.
“My God,” he said. “It is so good to see you, son.”
“And you, too,” I said and grinned, but then I looked around the apartment, searching for Emilia.
“She is not here, but she’s alive,” Mateusz said, but there was something in his tone—something dark. A burst of adrenaline ran through me. I had been about to sit on the couch, but I froze halfway, my muscles locked.
“What happened?”
“I’ll get the vodka, and then you and I need to talk.”
I sat on the sofa, watching him search the kitchen cupboards, muttering about Truda reorganizing and the vodka being lost. My patience quickly wore thin.
“Tell me, Mateusz. Just tell me.”
Mateusz turned. He leaned against the kitchen counter. He gave me a helpless look and then slumped as he murmured, “Roman, she’s pregnant.” Of all the things I had feared, Emilia finding someone else hadn’t even factored into my anxieties. I was no stranger to rage, but the jealousy that shot through my body was entirely new. I was on my feet in a heartbeat, restless and ready to tear the world apart, but before I could say a word, Mateusz said firmly, “Sit down.” His voice broke, and the anguish in his face cut through the fury. “Just sit down, and listen to me.”
I sank slowly onto the sofa, realization dawning. I closed my eyes.
“No,” I whispered. “Please, no.”
“We were in Lodz. It was Red Army soldiers. They were...” He inhaled sharply, then shook his head. “It is bad, Roman. I am so sorry. It is like the light in her eyes has been extinguished. She is not in a good way.”
“Where is she?”
“She is in hiding until the birth. She will have the baby, and Sara will find a family to adopt it.”
“When can I see her?”
“Roman,” he said pleadingly, “you can’t. She doesn’t want to see you, and I’ll be honest with you—I didn’t fully understand why until just now. She is not ready to deal with your anger until she has made sense of her own. A display of rage like yours just now? God, I hate to even think of how that would scare her. She is so fragile...so withdrawn. I think...for now, she has made the right decision.”
I didn’t even know how to explain the urgency I felt, to go comfort her, to help her heal. I could fix this—I knew I could—I just needed the chance to see her.
“But I—”