Page 54 of The Lost Husband

My mind detaches from my body. Or it’s my body that’s detaching from my mind.

Even the room looks different. Like a reflection in a mirror, backward, or inside out. No one is here. No one, but me.

Sleep comes and goes. Then again. And again, until I wake to a cold chill. One that has me reaching for a blanket to drape over my shoulder. An emptiness wells within me as I shift around and lower my hand to my stomach, searching…as if a baby—my baby,Noah’sbaby—could be misplaced.

Mother Superior steps up to the foot of the bed, her hands folded in front of her waist. “I’m sorry. We couldn’t save her.”

Her.

“It’s the only way to keep you safe,” Christoph had said. He didn’t realize he was only saving me. Not the life inside me—just the shell of what is left.

TWENTY-TWO

CURRENT DAY

Myslowice, Poland

How does a friend of more than twenty years become a stranger? Everything about Christoph is familiar. He looks remarkably the same as I remember, despite the three excruciating years that have passed.

Me, however, I don’t need a mirror or the reflection in his tear-glossed eyes to know what he sees when looking at me. I fear I look much worse than I feel. No amount of time in a shelter could undo that damage.

“Celina,” he utters my name as if he doesn’t really believe I’m there. “I received a telegram with your name and post about surviving and following the Soviet column in Poland. The Red Cross confirmed and gave me your most recent location. It took three trains and a freight cart to get here. But I’m here. And I—I can’t believe you’re actually?—”

Here.

Alive.

I don’t know what to say. I nearly forgot about pinning the post to the bulletin in the last shelter. I figured it would sit thereuntil it became covered with dust. I might be imagining him standing before me. Not even a tear fills my eyes.

He steps forward, opens his arms and carefully wraps them around my frail body. My chest tightens. The room grows dark.

I can’t breathe. Splintered wood scratches my face, my cheekbone grinding against the surface. I try to move, but I can’t. The barrack is so dark, not even a flicker of light breaks through the smoggy windows in the middle of the night. Body odor, sweat, and sickness are all I can smell. Clammy skin against mine.

Again, I try to move, coming to realize something or someone is on top of me. Someone larger, heavier.

“I can’t breathe,” I croak.

The weight bearing over me shifts. “Hmm. What’s—where?”

Someone is on top of me. “Move,” I grunt, pressing my shoulder into flesh.

“Oh my, I—I’m terribly sorry—I didn’t mean—” the weight lifts, allowing me to take a full breath. “I must have rolled over in my sleep. Did I hurt you?”

It should be impossible to roll over in our sleep. There’s only enough space to sleep on our sides. I pull in a ragged breath. “No,” I answer meekly.

“My apologies, again.” She shifts her body back onto her side, the bunk plank bowing beneath us. She just arrived yesterday. I don’t want anyone to touch me. I don’t want to feel anyone’s skin against mine or breathe anyone else’s breath. I want to hear my own thoughts and be alone with my mind, but no one can ever be alone in Auschwitz. That much is clear.

For a moment, Christoph’s embrace feels like the woman who nearly suffocated me. I still don’t want anyone to touch me. I need space, and air to breathe. I reach up between us and grab my throat, wanting to stretch it to take in more air.

Christoph steps back, rests his hands on my shoulders and cranes his head down. “It’s me. It’s Christoph.”

“I know,” I utter. “I know who you are.”

Christoph pulls his hands back and rests them on his mouth, shaking his head. “I was supposed to protect you from this.”

“This isn’t your fault.” Why do the words stick to my tongue? There’s no one to blame but the tyrants of this war. I know this.

“I’ve been looking for you for two years, just after learning you’d been sent away from the convent. No one would tell me why or where you went.” I had always questioned why he hadn’t come back for me sooner, but I came to understand I’m not his responsibility and never was.