Ada’s voice strains. “I told you…I’m working on it. These things take time.”
I glance at her fake protruding belly. “Do they? Because you’re running out of time.”
I step in closer. “If you’re worried about your husband finding out the truth about your pregnancy, you’ll be far more concerned if he finds out the child you’ve been parading aroundas your perfect Aryan daughter was stolen from a Jewish woman in Auschwitz. You’ve been drugging her. Hiding her delays and pains while dressing her in pretty outfits. Flora is a Jewish child, Ada. A Jewish child stolen from the camp. Imagine what your husband would do if he knew.”
The color drains from her face.
“I’m already going to hell, Halina,” she says hoarsely. “Nothing you say or do will change that. It’s too late for you to weasel your way under my skin. I know what I am, what I’ve become, and who I sleep beside every night.” She straightens her posture and narrows her eyes. “But I still decide how this ends. Not you. Besides, we’re hosting a dinner in the back tonight. It would be impossible to make this work while so many people are here,” she says.
“That’s not my problem,” I reply, the heat and rage taking over, speaking for me.
“And for your information, Flora is not stolen,” she says, her voice catching in her throat. “Can’t you see the resemblance between us?” She’s faltering, and she knows it’s over.
“Unless you bleached this child’s head like your own, then no. I don’t see it. What about Isla and Marlene, both of whom have dark hair like you and your husband? Wouldn’t you prefer a resemblance to the children you did birth?”
“Children can have different hair colors,” she snaps. “Surely you know basic science.” Her defense is weak, and she knows it.
“Jewish children can have blonde hair too,” I add. “Surely you must know a little something about genetics. Plus, I have proof of everything you’ve done.”
Ada’s eyes bulge, and her bottom lip trembles. She has no words left to fight with. The cracks in her façade are beginning to show. The lie about her pregnancy was one thing but stealing a Jewish child to call her own…that’s a death sentence, and she knows it.
“I should’ve kept my doors locked,” she mutters. “Heinrich was right. I’ve let too much in.” Her stare sharpens, the tremble subsiding.
I don’t know if I’ve pushed her too far or if I’ll actually see the light of day again after today, but I won’t let this woman do to me or Flora what her husband is doing to her—what my father did to my mother, or what the Reich are doing to my people.
My breaths quicken as I realize I could be putting Gavriel in more danger despite him not speaking. “Look, growing up as an orphan, I learned how to read people at an early age—it was a form of survival for me. I can read you, Ada. You were raised properly and had a nice life and made some wrong choices that have gotten you here. Your marriage has dissolved into nothing more than ash. You’re afraid of your husband but can’t fathom the thought of giving up the life he provides you. You have no one. You’re all alone. You yourself said it—you’re stuck, and I’m sorry for you, and those beautiful little girls. There is goodness still left inside of them, and it must have come from you.”
The smile lines at Ada’s lips sink even deeper and her chin trembles. “There is?” she whispers.
“Yes. There’s still time to make things right for them. They have a mother. Be their mother—perhaps the mother you have or had.”
“Have,” she utters beneath her breath.
I nod. “Will you allow us to escape tonight?”
“Yes,” she says. “Yes, but there’s something I need to handle first.”
A cutting chill slithers down my back.
“Handle?” I ask, the words biting at my stomach.
“Yes.” Ada turns around and leaves the space, her heels catching on uneven boards on the way out. A sniffle follows her down the stairs.
My chest nearly collapses in on me and I press my hands to my thighs to hold myself up and take a deep breath.
“I’ve never seen anything so brilliant in my entire life,” Gavriel whispers. “I will never forget the bravery—the strength, the courage—I just witnessed, never in all the days of this life I have left.”
“I could have gotten us killed. I don’t know when to stop sometimes. My anger—I’m so angry, Gavriel. For what you’ve been through, and Flora. The others who work under the same conditions on this street. Every person in that prison, and in this continent. I can’t control it…”
“Stop. I’m a firm believer of dying by trying. It isn’t worth it if you don’t fight.”
“While I’m going to get the girls, I need you to keep that pistol on you, just in case…We can’t trust her. She’s living in turmoil and desperation, and God only knows what she must handle before tonight. So please, will you keep the gun on you?”
He glances toward the alcove and nods slowly, unsurely. I don’t know how he’ll have the strength to get away tonight, but I’m not sure he has another day left in him in these conditions.
“We need a plan. A good one,” he says. “That woman can only help us get so far, and Flora?—”
“We need to take her with us,” I finish what I assume to be his thought.
