Roman
Kacper was safe with his family at long last, and having watched the emotional reunion he shared with his parents, I was more than ready for an emotional reunion of my own. I stood at the door to Piotr’s apartment, glancing between that intact door and the gaping space where my old home used to be. There was a sheer drop down into the courtyard just a few feet from Piotr’s door, a space now full of rubble, surrounding a surprisingly robust apple tree.
I raised my fist and knocked. There was movement inside the apartment, and then the door opened. Mateusz was there—dressed in a uniform I didn’t recognize. He gasped, then he opened his arms and embraced me. He thumped me on the back and squeezed me tightly, then all but dragged me into the apartment.
“My God,” he said. “It is so good to see you, son.”
“And you, too,” I said and grinned, but then I looked around the apartment, searching for Emilia.
“She is not here, but she’s alive,” Mateusz said, but there was something in his tone—something dark. A burst of adrenaline ran through me. I had been about to sit on the couch, but I froze halfway, my muscles locked.
“What happened?”
“I’ll get the vodka, and then you and I need to talk.”
I sat on the sofa, watching him search the kitchen cupboards, muttering about Truda reorganizing and the vodka being lost. My patience quickly wore thin.
“Tell me, Mateusz. Just tell me.”
Mateusz turned. He leaned against the kitchen counter. He gave me a helpless look and then slumped as he murmured, “Roman, she’s pregnant.” Of all the things I had feared, Emilia finding someone else hadn’t even factored into my anxieties. I was no stranger to rage, but the jealousy that shot through my body was entirely new. I was on my feet in a heartbeat, restless and ready to tear the world apart, but before I could say a word, Mateusz said firmly, “Sit down.” His voice broke, and the anguish in his face cut through the fury. “Just sit down, and listen to me.”
I sank slowly onto the sofa, realization dawning. I closed my eyes.
“No,” I whispered. “Please, no.”
“We were in Lodz. It was Red Army soldiers. They were...” He inhaled sharply, then shook his head. “It is bad, Roman. I am so sorry. It is like the light in her eyes has been extinguished. She is not in a good way.”
“Where is she?”
“She is in hiding until the birth. She will have the baby, and Sara will find a family to adopt it.”
“When can I see her?”
“Roman,” he said pleadingly, “you can’t. She doesn’t want to see you, and I’ll be honest with you—I didn’t fully understand why until just now. She is not ready to deal with your anger until she has made sense of her own. A display of rage like yours just now? God, I hate to even think of how that would scare her. She is so fragile...so withdrawn. I think...for now, she has made the right decision.”
I didn’t even know how to explain the urgency I felt, to go comfort her, to help her heal. I could fix this—I knew I could—I just needed the chance to see her.
“But I—”
“No,” Mateusz said flatly. “Whatever you are thinking, no. We must respect her wishes. I won’t tell you where she is.”
Mateusz had scolded me for my anger, and so I pushed it down, but I was horrified to realize that something even worse was rising up instead. Grief. I was going to weep for her, and I couldn’t do it in front of Mateusz.
I glanced at him hesitantly, and his eyes were full of understanding.
“Stay with us. You can take her room for as long as you need it.”
“I’m tired,” I said. My voice was thick with tears, barely even audible. Mateusz looked away, and I was grateful. “I just need to rest. It’s been a long journey.”
“Of course.”
I walked up the stairs, choking on a sob as I reached the top. But when I came to the doorway, I saw the mural of the city across the length of the wall, and my eyes were drawn to the bottom-right corner, to a scene full of love and hope. The figures she’d drawn were clearly, undeniably us—sharing the future I had chosen to live for.
I closed the door behind me, sat on the floor near the mural and wept like a child.
“You have no idea what that girl has been through,” Truda told me that night as she made up the bed under the mural in Emilia’s room. Her movements were brisk, and she brushed at the sheet fiercely. “You’re welcome to stay with us for as long as you wish, but I won’t have you harping on about her. She has made her feelings clear, and she has enough to deal with without you bothering her. And I have enough to deal with without you bothering me about her. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Truda,” I said. But I couldn’t sleep that night, and once she and Mateusz had gone to bed, I walked the halls of the apartment with the lamp Mateusz had given me. In Uncle Piotr’s old room, I found a scrap of paper and a pen.
Dear Emilia,
I’m sorry. I am just so sorry for everything that you have been through and for everything you are going through.
I am staying with your parents, but they have made it abundantly clear that you are not ready to see me and, of course, I will honor that. But I want you to know that I still dream of a future with you, and when you are ready to dream again, too, I will be here waiting.
They have given me your room for the time being. I could stare at the mural on your wall all day and night and never tire of it. The city is gone, but it lives on in your art. The power and beauty of it takes my breath away. I love the way you drew us. I love the way I can see the love in your eyes as you stare up at me on that wall.
Take all the time you need, Emilia. Do you remember the picture you painted for me with your words that day at the convent hospital? A family of our own, a home. I’ll find a way to study—become a lawyer like my father. And you’ll raise the children and keep the house, and you’ll paint. God, how you’ll paint!
Our future is worth waiting for, and it is also worth fighting for.
For now, it is my plan to find work to support myself while I reconnect with the Resistance. You know better than most that this war is not over for us, and it will not be over until we are free. I hope that you know I am committed to the fight. I hope that when you are ready, you will join me.
All my love,
Roman
On Saturday, when Mateusz and Truda began to prepare for the long journey to wherever Emilia was hiding, I asked them to take the letter.
“I don’t know if this is a good idea,” Mateusz said, staring at the note in my hand.
“You can read it,” I said. “There is nothing in there that is secret. I just want her to know that I’m back and that I care about her. It even says that I understand why she won’t see me.”
Truda snatched the letter from me and gave me a sharp look.
“I’ll read it on the way. If I think it is suitable, I’ll give it to her.”
When they returned later that afternoon, Truda found me in Emilia’s bedroom.
“She took your letter,” she said curtly. “She didn’t want to reply.”