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“I’m going to practice the Chopin,” Josie announces. “So I’ll be ready when she gets home. So I can play for her. And for Maman and Léon—they will be so surprised.”

“That’s a good idea, ma chérie.”

Josie runs to the piano and begins playing. The piece is challenging, the notes aren’t perfect, but her tone is filled with joy. She’s practicing for their return.

Tina listens from the kitchen. And for the first time in months she lets herself hope. Just a little. Just enough to breathe.

Maybe Josie is right. Maybe Andrée will come home. Maybe miracles still happen.

The guards are gone. Every one of them. They fled during the night, taking whatever they could carry. The women wake to find the gates unlocked, the guard towers empty. Freedom! It’s sudden, unexpected, and terrifying.

They’re in the middle of a German forest with no food, no transport, no way to get home. Will the Russians help them? Will they care? Or will they see only more displaced persons to deal with?

Andrée lies listening to the chaos outside. The women are shouting, crying, laughing. Yes, it’s the sound of freedom, but she can’t join them because she can’t walk. She can barely move.

Claire appears in the doorway. “The Russians will be here soon. They’ll have doctors and medicine. They’ll help us get home.”

Home. Paris. Rue Blomet. Josie at the piano. Tina in the kitchen. Louis in his favorite chair . . .

They’re waiting. They must be.

“Help me up,” Andrée says.

“But your feet?”

“I know. But I’m not staying here. I’m going home. Even if I must crawl the whole way, I’m going home.”

Claire smiles. Nods. “Then we’ll help you. All of us. We’ll get you home, Andrée. I promise.”

“For now, just help me outside. I want to feel the sun on my face. I want to feel freedom.”

Andrée, for the first time in months, lets herself believe she’s going home. To Josie. To Tina. To Louis. To music and life and everything she thought she’d lost.

She’s going home.

Chapter Thirty

The banging on the door comes early, before Josie has left for school. It’s loud, urgent, and insistent. Tina’s heart stops at the first rap. That kind of knocking, it brings back bad memories. The Militia. The arrests. Everything after.

But when she opens the door, it’s Maurice. He’s out of breath, his face flushed with excitement.

“The Hôtel Lutetia,” he gasps. “They’ve opened it as a repatriation center for survivors. Tina, it’s open for prisoners coming home.”

Josie appears behind Tina. “What? What’s happening?”

Maurice catches his breath. “The Hôtel Lutetia on boulevard Raspail—you know, the one that German intelligence used as their headquarters during the occupation—it’s being turned into a center for returning prisoners. Concentration-camp survivors, prisoners of war—they’ll all come through there. And every day, they’ll post lists. Names of those known to have survived.”

“Andrée,” Tina breathes. “We might find Andrée.”

“And Maman,” Josie says breathlessly. “Léon too. We might find them all.”

“You should go now,” Maurice says. “They’ll be posting new names every morning.”

Josie is already grabbing her coat. “Can I miss school? Please, Grand-Mère? Just today?”

Tina nods. School can wait. This cannot.

The Hôtel Lutetia is in chaos. Hundreds of people crowd the entrance, the foyer, the staircases. Some are returnees, skeletal, haunted, wearing clothes that hang off their frames. Others are searching, calling out names, holding up photographs, begging anyone who’ll listen: “Have you seen my husband? My wife? My son?”