Page 43 of The Lost Husband

The door swings open, and I collapse forward. Christoph’s arms catching me before I go down. “What—what is it?” Panic strangles the sound in his voice.

I choke on air, tainted air around me. “Noah…” I force his name out between sobs. “He—he was shot I saw his shoes…they—” My throat tightens. “They shot him.”

Christoph’s grip tightens, his face paling as he tips my chin up. The tote bag of food falls to the crook of my elbow then to the floor. Tears fill his eyes. He knows. Whatever my face looks like…it must say it all.

“They—saw. He told me—go the other way—and then the shots.” My words fumble into a plea for him to understand me.

“Breathe, Celina. Take a breath. Come on,” Christoph says, shaking me until my teeth chatter.

“I saw him. I—he was dead.”

Christoph pulls me into his chest and wraps his arms around me as we both sob so hard we fall to the floor. The tears don’t stop. My chest heaves violently, breaths lobbing through me, leaving me dizzy and weak. I give in to the weakness and let my head fall to the floor. The cool floor, it helps against my hot cheek.

I don’t want to fall asleep and wake up here. I want to fall asleep and wake up in my bed, next to Noah.

I gulp in a breath when my body leaves the ground. My eyes dart open, finding Christoph carrying me across his flat then lowering me onto a wool blanket draped over his sofa. He presses a cold compress to my head and when I look at his face, all I see is pain. The sort of pain that never goes away. That stays inside us like a knife that can never be pulled out.

The whites of his eyes are blood red, his cheeks maroon and splotchy, blurring over his pale complexion.

“This is my fault.” His voice is as hoarse as mine.

“Don’t do that.” The words are nothing but mere squeaks of vowels.

“I was starting to feel better. I should have insisted I get you groceries.”

“He wouldn’t have let you.”

“I know,” Christoph says. “All he does is argue with me. And he’s always right. I just won’t say it out loud.” Christoph shoves his fingers through his blonde hair. “But he wasn’t right this time. He wasn’t. I should have gone.”

“Be—before he—he,” I say, trying to swallow back the pain, but it’s useless, “he—uh—pushed me down the—” I clench my eyes shut, forgetting simple words. Forgetting how to speak entirely. A moan escapes my mouth before more words. “The—the alleyway. He—he told me to go to you.”

Christoph leans forward, elbows pressed into his knees, head in his hands. “I need to go find him,” he says. “If you saw them—if he’s lying somewhere—his body will be there.”

I shake my head. “A truck blocked the street a moment later, screeching to a stop in front of—they couldn’t have known he was Jewish. They shot him anyway. You can’t go.”

“Why would they kill him?” Christoph asks. I don’t think his question is for me but it’s the only question left to ask the world who seemed to stop listening to innocent people years ago.

“They don’t need a reason. They’re above the law, and no one can stop them.”

“I’m going to find information. Somehow. I’ll find out who was killed.” Christoph stands up and begins to pace in front of his coffee table, his hand pressing against his gut. “One min—” He rushes to his washroom and slams the door before purging.

Christoph steps out of the washroom, his head hanging, hands interlocked behind his neck. “He had his new papers on him, didn’t he?”

I nod. “Yes.”

“Did anyone follow you out of the store?”

“No. There was a line of people wrapped around the building and two clerks.” What if one of them did follow us? We would have noticed. Noah of all people would have noticed.

“You are connected through your papers, and registry.”

“But not as a Jewish couple.”

“Someone knew. Someone saw you. Someone wanted the money for turning in a Jew,” Christoph says, certainty hanging off each word. “Which means you aren’t safe, and I need to fix that.”

I haven’t felt safe in years, but now I’m sure I’ll never be safe again. My hand lowers to my belly, a habit I’ve grown. Noah says it’s instinctual protection. I think it’s a way to remind myself I still have our baby. Our.

Our fatherless child.