When I was little, my mamá bought me a little potted plant—little, but incredibly beautiful. It bore small purple flowers, and had leaves as green as a forest in the spring. Mamá told me, "This is no ordinary plant, mi cielo. This plant holds magic within it. If you sing to it every night before you go to bed, it will continue to blossom. Will you sing to it, cariño?" And when I enthusiastically nodded my head, she handed me the small plant and gave me a reassuring pat on the back. I sang to it every night, the same bedtime lullabies that Mamá would sing to me. Mamá would watch me sing to it, and hum along to the tune, brushing her fingers through my hair. I remember how close I'd bring my face to the plant, and almost whisper the song to it. How I'd spread my small hands around the pot, and watch it intently, scared to miss any moment when a flower bloomed. Mamá would giggle at my dedication to the plant. But it kept me company when I was alone. She would work long hours, and leave me by myself in the apartment or hotel that we were living in at the time. But when I had my plant, it wasn't so lonely anymore.

Summer came, and my plant began to lose its beautiful purple color. The leaves began to turn brown, and I ran to Mamá, shrieking that we needed to take it to the doctor because it was dying. Mamá stroked my hair and said, "Sometimes, mi niña, we try our hardest, but we still don't achieve what we want. But you want to know a little secret? This plant gave life to other plants, and to animals, and to people. Isn't it wonderful, what nature and magic can do? Like a woman, princesita. A woman can grow another human being in her body. Her womb serves as a shelter for the fetus until it is ready to come out and meet the world. Her body prepares the fetus, feeds it, allows it to develop in safety. And just like a woman, Santana, your plant gave life."

I remember how I raised the plant incredulously before me, unable to believe that it gave life to someone. "Who did it give life to, Mamá?"

The way she smiled at me then will forever be etched in my memory. Such a soft and loving smile. It made me feel safe and trusting. She stroked her hand across my face and said, "Your plant gave life to a human, mi vida." She motioned at her belly. "It gave life to your baby brother."

That was one of my most precious memories, when she told me that it was thanks to my plant, my singing, my nurturing, that I would have a baby brother. I remember the excitement that filled me as Mamá's belly grew. A little constant flutter at the bottom of my abdominal area. The same excitement that filled me now, when Brittany's belly was so large that it looked like she was about to pop.

She was lying in my arms when I remembered the plant. Her hands were clutching onto my arms, never willing to let go again. It had been two months since she thought that she had lost me, but those few hours in which she thought that I was dead broke her. Never in my life did I regret doing something more than I regretted leaving the house that night. I remembered how I found her kneeling with her face to the ground, crying so hysterically that she could barely breathe. I remembered how her sobbing only grew stronger when I slipped my arms around her and she turned to cry into my blouse. She was so panic-stricken that she couldn't even form a coherent word. She just cried and cried, her arms hugging me so strongly that it hurt. I felt so much hate for myself at that moment. Hate for myself and my carelessness. My carelessness that could've brought on an early labor, that endangered her life and our baby's. It seemed like hours before she calmed, but she still wouldn't let go. Ever since that day, when she held onto me, it was always desperately, as if I was about to disappear again. I explained to her that being confined in the house made me so anxious that I couldn't take it anymore. I explained to her that all I wanted was a breath of fresh air, that I never, never, meant to leave her. I apologized countless times, and kissed her, and tended to her. I did everything I could to show her that she and our baby were the only reasons for me to live. She accepted that, and she believed it, but now, two months later, she still seemed a bit shaken up. I cursed myself, again, for being so reckless.

That night had been one of the most terrifying of my life. I felt fear beyond anything that I had ever felt down at the camp, even though my life was constantly in danger then. It wasn't me that I was frightened for, it was them. Brittany, and the baby that was to be born to us. I remembered how the man walked toward me. I suspected that it was Herr Eberhardt—I couldn't know for sure, because I had never seen him before. Whenever he was home, I was down in the basement. But he seemed to be the man that Brittany always described with such hatred and loathing. I hid behind the tree, praying to God and Mamá and Ángel for something to distract him, or for him to decide that there's no one there. He came closer and closer, almost at an arm-length away from the tree, when there was a noise on the front porch. He snapped around to find Ora with a broom, apparently about to clean the porch. She froze in place when she saw him, a frightened expression on her face, and then hurried back inside. He turned his head once more toward my direction, paused for a bit, and then made his way back around the automobile to the house.

I turned my back to the tree and let myself slide down it, a mix of tremendous relief and utter dread overcoming me. I heard Herr Eberhardt slam the front door behind him and lock it, and I knew that I would have to remain outside, soundlessly, until he left again in the morning.

The night was chilly, but not anything unbearable. I didn't dare leave my tree, in fear that he was looking out the window from inside. I sat there, hugging my arms around me, until the sky began to turn lighter and the stars disappeared into the sun. I suspected that it was about nine in the morning when I heard the front door open and slam again, and a man's boots marching down the front porch and through the gravel to the automobile. I remained completely still, holding my breath so that he wouldn't think of searching behind the tree again. To my immense relief, I heard him enter the automobile, and soon enough, the car was speeding down the hill. I was about to leave my space behind the tree when I heard someone walking through the gravel, and then fall in it and begin to sob in torment. I hurried around the tree to see that it was Brittany, and I knew the reason for her tears. It was my fault, all my fault.

Now, two months later, we were sitting hugged on her bed in our favorite position. I looked down at Brittany to find that she had been peering up at me this whole time. I smiled softly and kissed her warm lips, lingering on them for a moment before pulling away again to gaze at her. Her head leaned on my right shoulder and her hands were gripping onto my arms. Her blue eyes almost glowed as she looked up at me, loving and adoring. But there was something else in her eyes. Something that had been there since that night—fear. Fear of losing me. I tightened my arms around her and nuzzled my head next to hers.

"How are the cramps?" I asked quietly.

She closed her eyes and her hand glided down to her massive belly. "More frequent. I think we're close."

I moved my hand down to her belly as well and laid it over hers. She squinted her eyes in pain as another cramp hit her. I moved our hands across her belly, as if to soothe it.

"Will you tell me a story?" she groaned, her eyes still shut.

I stroked my hand across her forehead and through her hair. "What kind of story?"

She rolled her head into my hand, her breathing calming. "One written by Hans Christian Andersen," she smiled gently.

I chuckled warmly and leaned down to kiss her again, this time for a little longer, letting the heat of her lips spread through mine. After pulling back again, I rested my cheek on her head and said, "There's one that's always been very special to me. It's called The Angel."

For a moment she squinted her eyes again, her body tensing as another cramp hit her. I looked at her, worried. The cramps were in fact getting more frequent. How long till our baby was out?

When it passed, she opened her eyes to gaze up at me. "So what does the story tell?"

I caressed Brittany's belly for a few moments before beginning the story. "It's about an angel whose job it is to collect little kids up to heaven when they die. And when he does, he also collects flowers to bring up to God's garden in heaven. After doing so, he flies with the child in his arms over all of the places that were dear to the child before taking him up to heaven. So one day, a child died and the angel came down to earth. He flew with the child over all of the places that he loved most, stopping on the way at a nearby garden to collect flowers for God's garden. After picking some roses and buttercups, the angel spotted a little broken pot that held a withered plant. The angel picked up the broken pot, and as he flew with the child up to heaven, he told him the story of the potted plant. It belonged to a boy that had been sick his whole life. So sick that he could barely walk across his room, let alone venture outside. He longed to see the outside world, to walk in a forest, to smell fresh air. But the boy was sick, and he was unable to do so. One day, the neighbor's son brought him a beautiful little potted plant. The sick boy came to love the plant dearly, and cared for it as well as any gardener would for his flowers. But one day, the boy died, and the little potted plant was left to die as well in his room. When the lodgers had moved out, they threw it carelessly among garbage, inconsiderate of the fact that the plant brought the boy much happiness." I paused for a moment.

"But how did the angel know the story of this plant?" Brittany asked, her eyes shining like a child's.

"Well, that is exactly what the boy asked the angel as they soared up to heaven. The angel smiled at him and said, 'Because I was that boy. The plant was mine.'"

"Really?" Brittany gasped, and I giggled at the fact that here she was, about to be a mother, and yet she was so enthusiastic about a fairy tale. I nodded and then nestled my face into her neck, kissing it. "I know why this story is special to you," she said quietly.

I hummed a note of question against her skin. She moved her left hand to caress my hair. "Because of Ángel. Because you want to believe that he's in heaven, that he really did become an angel, just like that boy."

I sighed into her neck and closed my eyes. She was right, of course. She knew me best. Ever since Ángel died, I was always looking for some sort of signal, or sign, anything to show that he was part of the greater afterlife. It comforted me to think that he might be watching over me from heaven. Sometimes I even dared to think that it was him who sent Brittany down to the camp on the first day we met. It was him who made sure that I was cared for, that I was loved so ardently. I thought about how Mamá told me that my potted plant gave Ángel life, and how the potted plant in the story gave the child happiness. It was almost like Hans Christian Andersen could see into the future.

Brittany groaned, her hand balling up into a fist. I raised my head to look at her. "Brittany, the cramps are really close together now… Don't you think we should call a doctor?"

"Call one of those Nazi dogs who experiment with lethal drugs on people like you? No, thank you," she grunted, her face contorting in pain.

I bit my lip. "Then who's going to deliver the baby?"

Brittany was quiet for a few moments, trying to steady her breathing. "Ora worked as a midwife before this whole rotten war began."

"Alright," I gripped her shoulders. "I'll get her."

I eased myself out from under Brittany and laid her gently on the bed, kissing her briefly before turning to the door and hurrying out of the room. I skipped down the stairs two at a time and dashed into the dining room, where Ora was cleaning the table. "Ora!"

She turned to me, her eyebrows raised in question. "Brittany's cramps are very frequent now. I think she may already be in labor."

"How frequent are they?" she asked, dropping the towel on the table and pulling off her apron.

"Um…" My eyes darted around. "I'd say every five minutes."

Ora nodded quickly. "Yes, she's in labor. If her cramps are only five minutes apart, then she's been in labor for a few hours now." She dashed into the kitchen, and returned a few moments later with two small glass bottles that looked to be medicine bottles and a spoon. She hurried past me and up the stairs, and I followed her, panic-stricken. Brittany was right where I left her, taking deep breaths, her hands stroking her belly. Ora eased Brittany's legs open, pushed her dress up, and carefully slipped off her undergarments. She raised her gaze to Brittany's face. "Your water hasn't broken, has it?"

Brittany shook her head, and Ora nodded in agreement. "Your opening isn't large enough for us to begin yet. There needs to be a space of ten centimeters." She grabbed the bottles and spoon, which she had dropped on the bed earlier, and placed them on the nightstand.

"What are they?" I asked, motioning to the bottles.

"Morphine and aspirin," Ora said, adjusting the pillows beneath Brittany's head. "I'll give her morphine right before we begin and aspirin after the baby is out. The pain is usually too great to bear without pain relievers."

I nodded, sitting down beside Brittany on the bed and weaving my fingers through hers. She smiled up at me, her eyes still twinkling like before. "We're going to be mothers, San."

I let out a breathy and incredulous laugh. Never in a million years did I think that I was going to be a mother to an Aryan baby. That I was going to fall in love with an Aryan, and hope to spend the rest of my life with her. It seemed so unlikely, so surreal, and yet so, so very concrete.

Ora looked again between Brittany's legs. "This may take a little while. Santana, will you check every ten minutes to see if there's a ten-centimeter gap, and call me when there is one?"

"Wait, how do I know if there's a ten-centimeter gap?" I asked, feeling my heartbeat quicken.

"Just put your hands together, thumb to thumb, and that's ten centimeters for you. The width of your finger is about one centimeter." She raised her eyebrows to see if I understood.

I nodded quickly, squeezing Brittany's hand in mine. Ora left us alone in the room, and I turned back to Brittany. I pulled her dress up over her belly, which truly looked like it was about to burst, and began to place feather-light kisses all over it, something that I knew Brittany loved. Her right hand was still intertwined mine, and occasionally tensed as another cramp hit her. Her left hand brushed through my hair, and I turned my head to find that she was looking down at me, heavy-lidded with pain and love. I leaned slightly down the bed to see how large her opening was. It looked to be about eight fingers long. I raised my gaze back up to Brittany. "Almost there, Britt. Almost there."

She smiled softly and tugged on my hand so that I would come up to her. When I did, she wrapped her hands around the back of my neck and pulled me down into a lazy kiss. Her tongue grazed my lips, and I opened them to send my tongue to dance gently against hers. She inhaled sharply, and I knew that she was having another cramp, but she didn't release my neck. I breathed in her intoxicating scent, felt her warm face against mine, and I knew that this was her way of showing me how much she wanted me to be this baby's mother with her. She pulled my top lip into her mouth and sucked delicately as her hands caressed my upper back and neck. After a few more moments, she released me, her lips pink and her eyes loving beyond belief. "You know something?" she said softly.

I shook my head, kissing the hand that was on my cheek. She smiled gently and closed her eyes for a moment. "I love you. So much that it's painful. You're the love of my life, the only one for me, and I've never been happier than I am now, when I'm about to give birth to the child that we'll raise together. I have no regrets about coming to Auschwitz, marrying that man, suffering his presence, because it led me to meet you, and I wouldn't give that up for anything. I feel so blessed to have your love, and all I can ever think about is you, and the joy you bring me." She stroked her thumb across my hand. "I love you."

I let out a shaky breath, so moved by her words that I could feel tears pooling up in my eyes. I squeezed her hand and smiled. "Take that love, your love for me, and multiply it by a thousand. That's how great the love I feel for you is."

She chuckled quietly, but her face soon turned pained again as another cramp tensed her body. I slid down the bed again, only to see that her opening was in fact widening. I held my hands in front of it. Ten fingers exactly. A jolt of panic ripped through me as I gasped, "You're ready."

Brittany nodded calmly. When she saw that I wasn't moving because of my terror, she said, "San, get Ora, please."

I stared at her, wide-eyed, before coming back to my senses and sprinting out of the room. I found Ora in the living room, and I didn't have to say anything—she could tell by the look on my face that Brittany was ready.

We hurried up the stairs, and Ora quickly grabbed a few towels from the bathroom before following me into Brittany's bedroom. Brittany was much more relaxed than I was, given the fact that she was the one having the baby, not me. I settled on the bed beside her as Ora opened the morphine bottle and poured a bit of its contents into the spoon. She held it up to Brittany, who swallowed it with a look of disgust on her face. Then she turned to me and smiled. "I'm fine, San, relax."

That was one request, I'm afraid, that I was not able to follow. My breathing became unstable as Ora moved around the bed, spreading Brittany's legs further with her hands. She looked up at me. "Put some more pillows behind Brittany, she needs to sit further up."

I dashed to the closet, where I found two pillows, and sprinted back the small distance to the bed. Brittany chuckled at my panic as I placed the pillows behind her back and settled back down on the bed, my hands clutching her right one.

"Okay, Brittany," Ora began. "You can start pushing."

Brittany closed her eyes and breathed in deeply before scrunching her face and pushing. She released, taking in another deep breath before pushing her hardest again. Her face reddened with each push, and I could see sweat beading up on her forehead. From down the bed, Ora said, "Good, Brittany, good. I can see the head."

Brittany panted, her hand squeezing mine relentlessly. I was torn between wanting to be on this side of the bed to provide her comfort or moving down the bed to see our baby come out. I decided to do both. Without letting go of her hand, I inched down the bed, craning my neck to see what was going on. I gasped.

It was one of the most magical things that I had ever seen. Golden hairs were visible on the baby's head, which filled Brittany's opening completely. Brittany continued to push and squeeze my hand, and the baby slowly came out. First the forehead, then the eyes, then a nose, then a tiny little mouth. I had never felt so much excitement as I did at that moment. The baby looked like Brittany, even with its eyes closed and its face somewhat scrunched up. Brittany grunted and released again, panting harder than ever before. I turned to her. "Just a little more, Britt. The head is already completely out. Just a little more."

I could see how exhausted she was, so I made my way back up the bed and kissed her forehead, which was a bit salty because of the sweat. "Push, Britt. It's almost out."

She took in another deep breath and scrunched up her face again, the hold on my hand so powerful that I felt like it would break, but I didn't care. I found myself scrunching up my face too, as if I could feel the baby come out of her. We were always in it together.

I looked down the bed to see that Ora was gently pulling the baby out. Once it was completely out, Brittany released, panting, and opened her eyes. Ora was holding a beautiful baby boy in one hand, and cutting the umbilical cord with scissors that she had sanitized. The baby cried instantly once it was cut, and both Brittany and I let out breathy, relieved laughs as Ora moved around the bed and handed the baby to Brittany. I helped her pull her dress over her breasts, and after she guided him to one of them, the baby stopped crying and began to drink her breast milk.

I cradled my right arm around the baby and my left around Brittany, happier than I've ever been. We had a breathtaking, strong, healthy baby boy, and nothing else mattered. I stroked a gentle finger across his cheek. "Welcome to the world, little one."

I glanced at Brittany, who was looking down at him and leaning her head on my shoulder. "What should we name him, Brittany?" I whispered in her hair.

She was quiet for a few moments, watching as his little hands grabbed onto her breast. Then she looked up at me, smiled joyously, and said, "Hans."

Translations

Spanish

"Cariño" – My love or my dear.

"Mi cielo" – My heaven or my sky.

"Mi niña" – My girl.

"Mi vida" – My life.

"Princesita" – Little princess.