Ice veils my heart and my hands press against my chest, needing to replace the warmth inside of me.
Mere minutes pass before Heinrich returns, his face patchy with red blemishes as he grips the back edge of the kitchen table chair, yanks it out further and sits back down before dragging its legs across the floor. Ada says nothing, she just stares down at her uneaten food. Isla and Marlene stare at their father with question and wonder but dare not ask what just happened.
Heinrich takes another few bites of his dinner then swipes for his napkin and holds it over his mouth, staring through his wife’shead. Then he twists in his seat and looks in my direction. “Did you witness any of the prisoners in rooms they shouldn’t be in?”
I shake my head violently. “No, Herr.”
“And you? Have you been in any rooms aside from the children’s, the washroom, and the kitchen?”
Again, I shake my head. “No. I read the rules.”
“You agreed to the rules,” he corrects me. “And by the way, I received confirmation today that your birth records were in fact located. I should have them in my possession soon. Perhaps we can find out who your parents are, together.”
As if I’m not already on the verge of falling ill with their baby in my arms, Heinrich takes a shot at me, not with a bullet, but a threat that will ultimately bring me down. My religious affiliation will be on those papers if they’re complete.
“Her parents?” Ada questions Heinrich.
“She has no parents. Didn’t you know that? No confirmation on anything, really. I can’t have a stranger working with our children in our house.”
“Halina has proven to be trustworthy and good with the children,” Ada mutters. “We need the help.”
“What you mean to say is, she’s trustworthy enough for you to go on a freedom spree in the mornings to run your unnecessary errands?”
I can’t believe she just defended me to him. Why would she do that? It’s clear no one who works in this house means anything to anyone.
But the people working in this house mean something to each other…The image of Gavriel falling to the ground following the gunshot is all I can see. My heart plunges deep into the pit of my stomach. He was just right outside.
Ada clunks her glass down on the table, a hollow thud rumbles through the air. “I can’t sit at this table with you for another moment.” She pushes her chair back, stands and stormsout of the kitchen. The commotion sets Flora off, her cries rising despite my steady rocking. My joints lock like rusted hinges, and worse, my stomach cramps with terror at the thought of what just took place outside.
Heinrich dabs his face with the linen napkin on his lap, then dumps it on his place. “Papa…don’t leave us too,” Marlene whines, reading his gestures like a picture in a storybook.
“I forgot something important at work. I have to go retrieve it. Finish your dinner,” he says.
When the front door slams shut following Heinrich’s exit, I move to the table and take the girls’ napkin-covered dishes to the sink. “Why—why—uh—” I clear my throat, trying to loosen the sensation of being strangled. “Go find something to keep you busy over there,” I say, pointing to their play nook. “I—I need to bring your sister upstairs. I think she has a wet bottom.”
I need to see if Gavriel is all right. How will I know?
“Is Papa going to come back?”
We should all hope he doesn’t, but a child wouldn’t understand. Not his child.
“Yes, I’m sure he’ll be back. No need to worry now.”
I rush upstairs to Isla and Marlene’s bedroom, then to the window, wondering if there’s anything outside to see—a body, as I fear the most. The sun is nearly set, but I don’t see anything in the place where they line up every night. That doesn’t mean anything.
With an unsettling weight on my shoulders, I make my way across the hall into Flora’s nursery and pull the blanket from the side of Flora’s crib and flutter it out to the side so it feathers to the ground where I can set her down before preparing a fresh nappy and pajamas for her. After sorting through her top drawer and finding her pajamas, I turn to the closet for the cloth diapers, but notice Flora is no longer on the blanket. I gasp anddrop to my knees to look beneath the beds, making no mistake that she is not on the floor of this bedroom anymore.
I run out into the hallway and spot her on hands and knees, crawling away as if she’s been crawling for months. I didn’t realize babies just figured out how to crawl and take off. I hurry after her, getting my hands on her just as she’s about to move in through the cracked opening to Ada’s bedroom.
The moment I have her in my arms, I glance through the cracked door.
And I freeze…
Ada stands before her vanity mirror, clutching a bundle of linen collected at the center of her waist. She’s pulling at it while adjusting straps beneath the back of her blouse. My breath hitches in my throat when realization strikes…it’s not her stomach. It’s fabric, wrapped in nylon. A false belly.
She isn’t pregnant—she’s only pretending to be.
“Ma!” Flora shrieks. I jump out of sight from the partially opened door.
