I was sitting at the head of Ora's bed, my anxious arms hugging my feeble knees, slightly rocking back and forth to calm myself down. The doctor must have been upstairs examining Brittany by now. I just hoped that he wasn't being too harsh with her.

I had this horrible feeling in my stomach, as if someone was gripping onto it and just wouldn't let go. I knew that this sickness, Brittany throwing up like that, wasn't just some stomach flu. Deep down, I knew exactly what it was. I was sure that her repulsive fiancé didn't want to wait until their wedding to sleep with her. To use her. What gave him the right? What gave him the right to mercilessly steal what was not his to have? It was not his to have. It was not anyone's to have.

What was this? Jealousy? Or pity? Or both? My first thought claimed that it was pity. But my first thought was prejudiced and bribed by my instinct, which hurriedly eliminated any possibility of me caring for a girl. The more that I thought about it, however, the more that I was certain that it was jealousy. Her virginity was not his to have because I wanted to have it.

I was terribly puzzled. I very faintly remembered the contact, her lips on mine, after she had rescued me. But the memory was so dim, and I was so hazed at the time, that I wasn't sure if it was all just a dream. I wanted it to have been real. But if it really was a concrete memory of actual happenings, then I also remembered my feelings at the time. I hoped that my utter confusion didn't come off as disgust or hate. I had a feeling that it did, though, since she didn't try it again. If it really did happen.

I didn't realize my feelings for her until I was in safety. Before, in the camp, I was too preoccupied with my misery and with the fight for my life. My mind couldn't wrap itself around unimaginable things like love and romance. Only two options had existed for me—surviving or dying. But now, now that I was in safety, that I had all of this time to sit in this room by myself and just think, now that I was able to look at her in different, more relaxed eyes, now I could comprehend my feelings for her. Now I knew that I loved her.

My love for her could not be put into words. It was so sudden. It came with the realization that I was safe, and it hit me like a cannonball. It was just this unquestionable feeling, this irrefutable knowledge that settled in me—I love her. It was as simple as that. No hesitation, no doubts. It was such an amazing feeling. Having this inner peace because I had finally found my future, my destiny, my calling. I knew that if she loved me back, then I would spend the rest of my life with her. And we would raise the baby that I knew was in her womb together.

It seemed perfect, flawless. But I knew better. How was I to spend the rest of my life with her in the world that we lived in? Where she was the superior and I was perceived as nothing but dirt at her feet? And even if this war, if this nightmare was over, this was a time when it was horrendous for two women to love each other. It was entirely unheard of, an abomination of human kind. If we weren't killed for being of two different races, then we would surely be killed for being homosexuals.

And then there was the possibility that my feelings would not be returned. There was the possibility that she didn't love me. But it seemed like such an odd idea. Why would she have risked her life to bring me to the house every day, to rescue me from the gas chambers, if she didn't love me? Why would she have even stopped the soldiers from beating me? If she didn't love me, wouldn't she have just walked on like any other Aryan would? Walked on and never turned back, never gave it another thought? But she didn't. She didn't, she yelled for them to stop, she brought me back to the house and treated me like a queen. She must have carried me back to the house from the gas chambers. She must have washed me and dressed me and cared for me. She must love me.

The door suddenly flung open and Ora hurried into the room. I immediately stood on my feet and asked, "What happened? How is she?"

Ora turned to me from her small dresser. "I don't know, she wouldn't tell me. She ran up to her room and shut the door after her."

I bit my lip, more sure than ever now that she was indeed pregnant. "Is he still here?"

"Herr Eberhardt? He left with the doctor. I don't know exactly when he'll be back."

"I'm going up to her," I began to stride to the door.

"Santana, that would be very careless of you. He might just be escorting the doctor back to his office."

"I don't care, she needs me with her." I hurried out of the room and up the basement stairs. When I arrived at the top, I cautiously stuck my head through the doorway to make sure that he wasn't there, and then quickly headed up the steps to the second floor. I walked to Brittany's room and paused before her door. I raised a hesitant fist and knocked lightly on the wood. "Brittany?"

I could hear faint crying from inside the room, but no response. I lowered my hand to the door handle and pushed it down carefully.

Brittany was lying in her bed under her blankets. I gently closed the door behind me and walked around the bed so that I could see her face. My heart clenched as I gazed at her swollen eyes and at the tear-soaked pillow beneath her. I slipped off my shoes and sat by her as my left hand caressed her hair. She wasn't crying anymore, just looking up at me with those electrifyingly blue eyes and sniffing every once in a while. Then she opened her mouth, cleared her throat, and choked out, "I'm pregnant."

"I know," I said softly. "I know."

"I feel so dirty, so impure," she squinted in agony. "I have his child inside me. I'll give birth to a child that will grow up to be just like him. I just want all of this to go away." Tears began to swim horizontally across her face again, hitting the pillow beneath her head.

"I know," I lifted her head and moved myself below it so that it was resting in my lap. My hands continued to run through her hair. "But this child won't grow up to be like him, Brittany. Because you'll teach him kindness, and honesty, and generosity. You'll raise this child to be like you, not like him. You'll raise him to be an amazing and wonderful and extraordinary person like you."

"How do you know? How do you know that he won't love his father more, and want to grow up to be like him?" Brittany's hand clutched onto my dress.

I ran a finger across her cheek. "Because it's impossible not to love you, Brittany," I said quietly.

She turned her head so that she could gaze up at me. My mouth parted as I stared down deeply into her swollen eyes. Then she lifted herself out of my lap and brought herself to eyelevel with me. Her intense gaze shot back and forth between my eyes and my lips. And before I even had the chance to try to kiss her, she leaned forward and did so herself.

At the moment that her lips touched mine, I knew that they had been there before. They were so warm and desperate, almost hungry, for love. Her tears smeared across my face as our noses breathed side by side for a few magical moments. Then she pulled out of the kiss, her eyes frightened and vulnerable.

I couldn't contain my feelings. I let out a cross between a sob and a relieved laugh as my mouth stretched into a wide smile. I was so moved that tears began to stream down my face as well and I quickly leaned back to her so that our lips could meet once more. Now we were both crying, but they were the happiest tears of our lives. We let out scattered giggles and ragged breaths as we kept our lips attached. I brought both of my hands up to Brittany's cheeks, and she put her left hand on my left arm. It was the most wonderful moment of my life. The moment that told me that I really would spend the rest of my life with her. With my soul mate.

At last, we drew out of the kiss. She was still leaning on one hand, but her other came to my face. She grazed a wondering finger down my cheek and asked, "It's impossible not to love me?"

"Utterly impossible," I grabbed her hand and kissed it softly, my eyes entirely adoring.

She smiled widely. Then she shook her head, sighed deeply, and closed her eyes. "I didn't think that you loved me."

I wrapped my arms around her shoulders, bringing her into my chest. "I love you more than I love breathing."

She giggled softly and leaned her head into me. I cradled her in my arms and placed my chin on top of her head. We sat there for a few minutes before Brittany spoke from beneath me. "Can I tell you something? Something that I've never told anyone before?"

"Of course you can," I kissed her hair.

"When I was nine years old, before my sister was born, my parents took me to a bookshop. They told me that I could choose from the children's books that were written about our nation. They're great nationalists, my parents. But I didn't want to read some book that glorified Germany. I was a kid, I didn't care about politics. I really only wanted one book."

"Which one?" I asked curiously.

"A novel called Peter and Wendy. It's about a boy who never had to grow up. I was little, but I knew what was to come when I turned older. I knew that I would be given away to some man like all of the other girls. And I didn't want that. So when I saw this book, about a boy who never had to grow up, I instantly decided that I wanted to read it. I wanted to learn of his trick, how he managed to never grow up, so that I could do the same. But my parents absolutely refused to buy it for me. They said that it was a waste of my time and their money, and they left the shop."

"So what did you do?" I ran my fingers through her golden locks.

Brittany hesitated for a moment before answering. "I stole it. I took it off of the shelf and slipped it into my jacket and left the shop." She stroked a finger across my hand, which was held in hers. "I felt horrible about it. I kept thinking that the police were going to come knocking on my door and take me to prison. So the day after, I returned to the shop by myself and gave the owner all of my allowance money. I didn't tell him why, I just threw it on the counter and ran out of the store. And when I got back home, I felt a little better about having the book. So I went to my room and began to read it, and lost myself in its magic."

"So what's the storyline?" I adjusted myself on the bed so that she could lean into me more comfortably.

"Well, there are these three siblings, Wendy, John, and Michael Darling. And every night, Peter Pan, a magical boy from a place called Neverland who can fly, listens to Mrs. Darling as she reads her children bedtime stories. But one night, Peter is spotted, and in his hurry to escape, he loses his shadow."

"He loses his what?" I asked incredulously.

"His shadow. So Peter comes back so that he could find it, but he wakes Wendy while searching for it. She reattaches his shadow to him, and he starts telling her about where he's from and invites her to come along with him to Neverland. And he has this fairy, Tinker Bell, whose pixie dust can make people fly. So he uses Tinker Bell's pixie dust on Wendy, John, and Michael, and they all fly away to Neverland." She finished quietly. I heard her calm breathing from below. "I always wished that I had a Peter Pan who would come and take me away to Neverland, where I would never have to grow up into an adult. But he never did. And now not only am I an adult, but I also have a child that is growing inside of me. A child that I will have to raise in this rotten world, who will grow up to learn that some people are better than others and some people don't deserve to live. And maybe my child will also want Peter Pan to come and take him away, but Peter Pan is just a hope, an idea that is entirely intangible. My child, an Aryan, will attend the best schools, where they will teach him to hate people like you, where they will train him to be a soldier. He will be given adult tasks and taught adult things when he is just a small child. And Peter Pan will never come to save him."

I exhaled slowly and leaned my cheek on her head as my arms tightened around her. She was so helpless, so broken. All that I wanted at that moment was to destroy everything and everyone who made her life miserable. All that I wanted was to love and protect her, my love, the girl who never wanted to grow up.