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The city was finally quiet after two nights of violence. I went to bed early, Gisela beside me in the hopes that we’d get a little more rest, but woke to the shrill burst of the phone ringing just after eleven o’clock. Jürgen often called late like this if he was especially busy and we hadn’t spoken in a while, so I was certain he would be at the other end.

“Hello?” I asked breathlessly.

“I hope I didn’t wake you, Sofie.”

It was Adele, and she sounded weak. The hair on the back of my neck stood up.

“What is it?” I asked urgently. She didn’t answer. “Adele—are you sick? I’ll come right over—”

“Yes, I am quite unwell, Sofie,” she said, slow and labored, as if it were an effort to speak.

“I’m coming—”

“Wait,” she interrupted. “Please be sure to bundle up—put your coat on and your warmest winter boots, maybe a nice warm hat too. I reallydon’t want you to catch a chill.”

I looked along the hall to the windows above the stairwell. There was ice around the windowpane. Even so, it was unlike Adele to baby me. Something was going on.

I ran back to my bedroom and stared at Gisela on the bed. Georg and Laura were asleep down the hall—but they never woke up when she cried. I couldn’t take her with me. I couldn’t leave her behind. I groaned and ran to Georg’s bedroom.

“Georg? Sweetheart?”

“Hmm?”

He was sleep-rumpled and innocent, and even as I shook his shoulder gently, I felt a tug of love for him in my chest.

“Darling, I have to go next door. Oma needs some help with something. Can you please come and sleep in my bed in case Gisela wakes up?”

He was half-asleep as we walked down the hallway, dragging his feet and squinting his eyes against the light. In my room, he flopped down onto my side of the bed and rested his hand gently on Gisela’s back, as if to console her in advance. I propped a pillow beside her to keep her from rolling off the bed. Adele’s words were ringing in my ears as I pulled on a felt hat and heavy coat, along with a pair of snow boots.

At the last minute, I stopped at the safe in Jürgen’s study and withdrew every Reichsmark, stuffing them into the pockets of my coat.

I stopped at the bottom of the stairs, just for a heartbeat, thinking of my children asleep upstairs. If love was the antidote to hate, surely the vastness of the love I felt for them could make some difference, even with everything else they were exposed to. The streets were calm, but it felt like the eye of a storm. I was terrified, but I’d heard the urgency in Adele’s voice. There was no option to refuse her.

The clouds above were low and heavy, and light snow was falling—just enough to make the path icy. I slipped through the courtyard gate and into Adele’s yard, then her apartment. I found her in the kitchen, where she often was. The fire was roaring, and she was slumped at the table, watching the steam rise from a teacup. She looked as weary as I’d ever seen her.

“Oma...” I whispered, rushing to her side.

“Thank you for coming, Sofie... I’m fine. I just... I can’t find my medication. Could you look for me? Perhaps in my bedroom...and I’m going to go take a bath while you look. That sometimes helps too.” Her voice was uncertain, her breaths coming in pants between words. She was so pale her skin had taken on a blue-gray tone, and when I looked at her hands, they were trembling. But even as she spoke, she was pointing—drawing my attention to a scrap of paper on the table.

I’m fine. Go quietly to the bathroom. Run the water to make some noise. I put the wireless in there too—turn it on and whisper just in case.

She watched to make sure I read the note, and when I nodded, she ripped it up and tossed the pieces into the fire.

I hesitated at her side, but her expression became even more impatient as she waved at me and mouthed, “Hurry, Sofie!”

I went briskly toward the bathroom, my footsteps clumsy because of the heavy boots. The bathroom door was closed, the room dark. I reached inside and pulled the string and gasped.

Mayim was sitting on the closed toilet lid. When the light came on, she jumped, clearly startled, and then she burst into tears and pressed her shaking finger over her lips. I stepped into the bathroom and closed the door. I turned the bath on as if to fill it, then fumbled for the wireless—trying to fill the air with sound.

Mayim and I threw our arms around each other. All I could do was ramble and all she could do was cry, and we were struggling to be quiet as we did so. Mayim was trembling, and so cold her skin felt like ice. I pulled my coat off and slipped it around her shoulders, then buttoned it for her, right up to her chin. She watched me, silent tears still pouring down her face. Her skin was etched with new lines that did not belong on the face of someone so young.

“What’s happened?” I whispered.

“Papa is gone.”

She was struggling to breathe between her sobs. I pulled her close again, squeezing her tightly, as if I could somehow absorb her pain. But the thing about grief is that even when it’s shared, the weight is not relieved.

“It was the first night of the violence. Papa told me to hide under the kitchen sink. They knew my name...about my passport... They said they were going to deport me. Father wouldn’t give me up and they shot him. When I came out from under the sink there was blood everywhere. Mrs. Elsas next door said they dragged him down the stairs and threw him into the back of the truck and if he wasn’t already dead...”