“I missed you so much. I’ve imagined this moment so many times every day since we’ve been apart,” I utter, brushing the tip of my nose against his. “Even though I told you not to come here.”
“You’re so stubborn sometimes. Your dad warned me about that the first time we met, I believe.” He sniffles and laughs. “Everything is going to be fine. We’re in good hands.”
I step back a bit to take his hands in mine, the light from the factory catching the side of my face. “Tell me what we need to do, and I’ll do it,” I say, taking a deep breath.
“What the hell happened to your face?” Stefan snaps, tracing his fingertip along my cheek.
“I’ll be all right. We’re getting out of here, right?”
“Was it that Nazi who took you from the house?” he grits.
I shake my head. “They’re all like this. This is nothing, trust me.”
Stefan takes in a shuddered breath, and I realize I should try to keep him calm rather than enraged right now but I can’t hide the truth of what Weyman has done to me. I’m his punching bag, which has likely saved his wife from being one for the time being.
Stefan closes his eyes and takes another long breath, blowing it out slowly through pursed lips. “We’re going to get into that truck the same way I came out. It’s a delivery truck. They come through and leave all the time. I happen to know this driver. This is a new route for him, but he knows what he’s doing.”
“I’m scared,” I tell him, my voice cracking under the pressure.
“You’re never scared,” he reminds me.
“I don’t know who I am…”
Fear surges through my veins. My stomach aches. My throat closes tight.
Stefan takes my hand and slides something metallic into my palm. He curls my fingers around it. “This will remind you.” My fingers tremble as I unfold them, finding a heart-shaped winding key. “Remember what you told me about this type of key?”
Under the Prussian blue sky, painted with streaks of pale moonlight, his lips find mine. With the tall spruces as our only witness, his fingers weave through my wavy strands as he speaks a lifetime’s worth of silent promises. His heart beats against mine, hard, heavy, an unresolved note. He isn’t as confident as he said. I can feel it. This is a kiss goodbye—not one that speaks of our wishful second chance, or the impending moment we escape this hell. Something inside of him knows.
“A winding key is a promise to time. One won’t work without the other,” I utter, staring up into his misty green eyes.
A smile that deepens his dimples captures the quiet seconds between us. “That’s what you are to me,” he says. “Like time—for as long as you hold this key, time will find us. Together and always.”
I begged him not to come for me because a Jewish man should not be anywhere near these woods, especially not after his family was taken away, and he was spared. Neither of us belongs here, but I can survive if needed.
“The truck’s waiting for us,” he says, wrapping his arm around my shoulders. “We’re getting you out of here.”
“I’m ready,” I utter, fighting against the gnawing ache in my stomach. He takes my hand and holds on tightly as we padcarefully through the leaf covered path until the headlights of the truck bleed through the branches.
“Stop here. When you hear three taps against metal, run to me,” he whispers.
His hand slips from mine, an invisible thread unraveling between us as he races for the truck.
He’s close, within reach of the canvas tarp covering the back end.
The clatter of a rifle shuffles, echoing between the trees.
Not three taps on metal.
“Halt!”
A gasp, thud, and groan follow.
A voice inside of me screams out in agony as I peek through clenched eyes, finding Stefan face first on the ground. Tears stream down my cheeks as a German guard kicks Stefan repeatedly while holding a rifle to the back of his head. They prod through his pockets for papers, but I can’t see what they find before they yank him to his feet and shove him into the truck.
I cover my mouth with all the strength left in my hands, smothering the cry threatening to burst from my lungs and stumble back into a tree. Before I can take a mouthful of air, the truck moves out of sight.
“No,” I cry out. “No. Wait!” My voice is garbled, scratched, hardly making a sound.
