I didn't know when I fell asleep or how long I had slept for, but when I awoke, it was still dark. As my thoughts became clear, I noticed that Santana was still lying in my arms, her hands clutching onto me like her life depended on it. Her eyes were closed and her breathing calm and stable, and she looked so peaceful. If angels existed, then she must have looked exactly like one. I wondered if her whole family had looked like angels; she had already told me that her brother was an angel to her. I remembered the photograph that I saw of her, her mother, and her brother. I could see where her pure, beautiful features came from.

I wondered for a moment why I had been woken up. I couldn't have slept for more than two hours—it was already past midnight when I fell asleep, and now it was still dark. I had this odd feeling inside, a sort of nervousness mixed with utter hopelessness. I knew that this feeling could have only been caused by one thing.

Have you ever felt like you're drowning, or choking, but really you're just sitting still, in safety? It feels like your throat is closing up and just won't open a gap wide enough for air to seep into your lungs. Every time you attempt to take a breath, it's like someone's got a hold on your trachea, a deadly grip that doesn't even leave a centimeter-wide opening. I had this feeling now. I had to fight to keep the air flowing, and I could feel my heart beat madly in my chest. It reminded me of a day in my childhood. A day that seemed so very far away.

My family and I had traveled north from Berlin until we reached the shores of the Baltic Sea. It was the first time that I had ever been on a beach, and I was beyond excited to experience the waves and smell the salt around me. I remembered how I sprinted to the water, shedding my clothes in the process until I was only in a bathing suit, and leaped into the water. It was an amazing sensation, but it was soon cut short by an enormous wave that took me completely by surprise. I remembered how the water twirled me like a ballerina, and how the panic caused me to try to take in a breath when I was still underwater. I remembered the strong taste of salt and the feeling that I was never going to breathe again.

I felt like this now, and I knew exactly why. It was the type of panic that hits you only after you've had time to sit down and think about the situation. Now that I had that time, the dread of never seeing my baby again was entirely overwhelming. It seemed simply impossible to save him. I closed my eyes and attempted to calm my breathing, but it was useless because memories began to fly through my mind, pictures of his face and the way Santana held him like she would give him the world and more if he just asked. The way he'd look up at me with those big, blue, knowing eyes. It was like he could read our minds and feel our feelings. I remembered how we'd take him to my bed and lay him between us, both of us hugging him protectively as we leaned our heads together and watched him sleep. I recalled how frightened I was of being a mother when it was discovered that I was pregnant. And now… Now, I could not imagine a world without our Hans.

My attempts at relaxing were in vain. I was beginning to feel lightheaded now and more panicked than ever. I just couldn't see a way out of the mess that we had found ourselves in.

Suddenly, I felt warm lips on my neck. "What's wrong?" she whispered.

I didn't answer, not because I didn't want to, but because I couldn't find enough air in my lungs to form words. I clenched my jaw closed as a few tears began to slide down my face.

Santana raised herself on her right elbow, her eyes concerned and uncertain. She kissed the tears from my face and brushed my hair back, searching in my eyes for an answer. She continued to place soft kisses all around my face, my nose, my cheeks, my eyelids, my lips, until the choking sensation slowly dissolved into calm and stable breathing. She was kissing my ear now, gentle, loving kisses, and she mumbled, "I swear to you that I will get him back or die trying."

I closed my eyes. She knew me so well that I didn't even have to tell her what had caused this. But her words provoked some concern and fear in me. I knew that she meant them with all her heart, and the last thing that I wanted was for her to be lost as well. I couldn't bear the thought of being left with nothing to live for. On the other hand, I knew that I would never be able to rescue Hans by myself, and even better than I knew this, I knew that Santana would never let me do so. Like everything else, we were in this together. He was our son and we would both save him or die trying.

Santana slipped her arm under my neck and pulled me into her. It was amazing how our roles in this relationship could be reversed so easily. Last night, I was the one comforting her, and here she was, now, doing the same to me. This only affirmed what I had thought a few hours earlier—that all we needed for comfort was each other.

Santana combed her fingers through my hair and kissed my forehead lightly. "What do you say we wash ourselves?" she offered quietly.

I remembered that she still had Simka's blood on her back, and I thought about how uncomfortable and miserable that must have made her feel. I nodded and we untangled ourselves from each other.

When we walked out of the room, we found Rolf sitting on the living room couch, flipping through some papers. He raised his gaze to us when he heard our footsteps. "Good morning," he said with a little sad smile.

We returned his greeting and glanced around. "Where's Bolek?" Santana asked curiously.

"He left to check some things for us. We'll need forged papers and aliases to leave the country."

"Leave?" I felt my breath catch in my throat again, and the feeling of panic return.

Santana squeezed my hand in hers and met Rolf's eyes. "We're not going anywhere without our baby."

Rolf let out a little sigh that told us that he was expecting just this reaction. He looked back up at us. "You are aware that we can never return to Auschwitz, correct?"

"Maybe…" I searched my brain for a possible solution, but the feeling of helplessness had returned. Suddenly, something occurred to me. "What if we enter through Birkenau, one of Auschwitz's other camps, instead of through the main camp? The soldiers there have never seen our faces."

Rolf and Santana considered this idea for a few moments. "There is a path that can lead to your house from Birkenau…" Rolf said slowly.

Hope began to fill me once again. "Then it is possible?" I turned my gaze to Santana, who looked somewhat uncertain, then back to Rolf, who had the same expression on his face.

"It would be dangerous, Brittany," he began. "Too dangerous, in my opinion. Your husband will be expecting us to do just that—return to Auschwitz to retrieve your son. I'm sure he knows that you won't relent in your plan to rescue the baby."

"Well, if he does know this, then he's right," Santana said defensively.

Rolf sighed and closed his eyes. "Returning to Auschwitz would be playing right into his hands. It would be like walking into a trap, most likely in the form of an ambush that'll kill all three of us."

"Then what do you expect us to do, just give up and never see our son again?" Santana asked, exasperated.

Rolf bit his lip and dropped his gaze. "I don't know," he admitted quietly.

We stood there in silence for a few uncomfortable minutes, trying to think of any way out of this. After no such solution presented itself to us, I sighed and said, "We'd like to wash ourselves. Do you think Bolek would mind?"

Rolf shook his head and lifted a bag that sat beside him. "I bought you some clothes to change into last night."

"Thank you," I said, taking the bag into my hands and following Santana to the bathroom. There was a little window in it, and I noticed that it was still dark outside. Had Rolf even slept?

I closed and locked the door behind us. "He means well," I said, sort of to Santana and sort of to myself.

Santana lowered her eyes to her hands, which were fidgeting nervously with the large men's shirt that she was wearing. "I know," she said finally.

We waited until the bathtub was entirely full with warm water, then stripped out of our clothes and climbed in. I leaned forward until I was lying on Santana's chest, and she wrapped her arms around me. We were quiet for a little while, letting the heat of the water and the closeness of our bodies relax us. I remembered a certain memory, so precious and yet one of the most frightening moments of my life. "Do you remember the first time that we took a bath together?" I asked, tracing small circles with my finger on her shoulder.

She took some time to think about it. "A few weeks after the first time that we had made love, you wanted to take a bath, but I was afraid that it would hurt the fetus, so we filled the tub with lukewarm water. We must have stayed in there for four hours."

I smiled softly at the memory. "There was one time before it," I began uncertainly, "but I don't think that you remember it." I raised my gaze to her, and she looked at me questioningly. I laid my head back down. "After I brought you up to the house from the gas chambers. Rolf left his post and helped me to carry you up the hill, and when we finally arrived at the house, he told me that you needed to be washed and cleansed of the poison. So I brought you upstairs and filled the tub with water and washed you. You were barely conscious." I paused, waiting to see if she remembered. When she didn't say anything, I assumed that she didn't remember. "I thought I was going to lose you," I mumbled, holding her closer.

She remained silent, just stroking her hand down my back and then back up. Then she kissed my hair and said, "Just one of the many times that you've saved my life." She found my hand and interweaved our fingers. "But more importantly, you gave me something to live for. What's the use in life when it serves no purpose? You gave me love when I needed it most, and you gave me the most beautiful baby boy in the world."

I smiled into her skin. "He really is beautiful, isn't he?"

"Just like his Mami," she kissed my hair again. We were quiet again for a few minutes, Santana caressing my body while I traced patterns on her skin. When she spoke again, it was just above a hush. "We'll get him back, Brittany."

I lifted my head so that I could see her expression. She brought both of her hands to my face and brushed them down my cheeks, smiling sadly. Her eyes were comforting, but there was something else in there. I knew that inside, she was still in a bloody battle of emotions. Her friend's death was not lost from her mind, and leaving Hans behind had hurt her just as much as it had hurt me. There was still that horrible guilt, the very same one that I felt. Her guilt for Simka's death, and whoever else was to die because she escaped. My guilt for Ora and Chaim's deaths, and for everything she felt guilt for, because it was really all my fault. But the greatest guilt of all, I knew, for both of us, was the fact that Hans was not with us now. It was the sort of guilt that washes over you like an entire sea, at an overwhelming strength, suffocating you completely and leaving no room for any thought but the desire to overcome that guilt, and to fix what was broken—to save our little boy.

I didn't think that I'd ever be able to express how thankful I was at that moment for the strength that she showed. I knew how difficult it must have been for her, but she knew that I needed her to be strong for both of us, and she complied without the slightest complaint or hesitation. She gave me the comfort of knowing that no matter what, we'd be together.

We stayed in the bath for about another hour until we heard Bolek enter the apartment and start speaking to Rolf. After we drained the bathtub, dried ourselves, and slipped on the clothes that Rolf had bought for us, we entered the living room to find the men on the couch, bent over a pile of papers. When he saw us, Bolek stood up and said, "Ah! Good. We need you to come fill these out. Just some basic information, hair color, eye color, height, weight. Then we need to go to the forger's apartment, where he'll take your pictures and create the fake documents. Come, now, we don't have the entire day."

Filling out the first document had proven quite easy, for it really did only ask for basic information. The next documents, however, were not as simple. It was just like the Nazis to ask for the complete story of your life, where you were every year and what you were doing, who your parents were, your grandparents, even your great grandparents. It was their impeccable meticulousness that made them so efficient and successful.

It took us a few good hours to think of backstories for our new identities. Our plan was to declare that Oskar Nacht, Rolf's alias, and his wife, Klara Nacht, my alias, were in Poland on important Nazi business. Conveniently, Nazi business that could not be discussed with the petty soldiers who would likely question us. Since they had planned on staying in Poland for a few months, Oskar and Klara brought their Spanish maid, Eva Vargaz, with them to care for them. It was a solid backstory, but we still had not come to a decision on how we would use it. To leave the country, or to return to Auschwitz.

The walk to the forger's apartment was spent with apprehensive glances around the streets and the worries of coming face to face with Nazi soldiers, who would surely know that we were fugitives. I wondered if our pictures had been distributed to all Nazi personnel by now, and if they were all out searching for us. After what we had done, I didn't doubt that to be a possibility.

The forger, a middle-aged, balding man who smelled strongly of alcohol, greeted us at the bottom of his apartment building. Thankfully, he didn't ask too many questions, such as why we needed fake documents or even who we really were. He was very efficient in his work. He quickly took our pictures, then disappeared into the darkroom in the back of his apartment to develop them. We waited quietly on the couch, careful not to make too much noise. Santana and I had come to an agreement that we would not act as lovers when in public—it would bring much attention to us, not to mention the fact that the Nazis also put homosexuals in concentration camps. It would only have negative consequences.

Even though we weren't truly in public now, Santana and I were still cautious not to show our feelings for each other. We couldn't really trust anyone, and if the forger hadn't demanded any information of us, then he surely would rather not know. I thought that keeping his name to himself and knowing as little about us as possible was some kind of personal insurance for him; if any of us were to be caught, we would not know enough about him to lead those brutal Nazis his way.

It took a little while for the photographs to develop. Once they did, the forger returned and began to create the fake documents. It was quite impressive, really. He had all of the right stamps, as well as the utilities to make the papers believable. A few hours later, we left his apartment, shaking his hand and saying our thank you's, with our new papers in hand. We were no longer Rolf, Brittany, and Santana, but Oskar, Klara, and Eva. It was quite laughable, really, how easy it was to break through the Nazis' iron grip on rules and laws.

Just when our spirits were slightly lifted, they quickly dropped again to the bottom of our stomachs and lingered there as crushing fear. We were about to turn a corner when we saw two young men in Nazi uniforms speaking to each other heatedly and walking our way. Silently and completely panicked, we hid in the entryway of the nearest building, flattening against the wall and praying to God that they wouldn't see us.

As they turned the corner, the soldiers' words became comprehensible. "What do you think they'll do to his wife once they find her?"

My breath hitched, and I could hear Santana hold her breath beside me.

"Well, I don't know, how bad is her crime?"

"They say that she hid a gypsy prisoner from the main camp in their basement for an entire year. Right under his nose!"

"Why on earth would an Aryan try to save a gypsy?"

To our utter dismay, the soldiers stopped walking and stood a little before the entryway that we were hiding in became visible. I felt the same feeling that had enveloped me in the early morning, of being suffocated by the salty water of the Baltic Sea. I struggled to keep my breathing stable, and Santana gripped my hand tightly, warningly, but also to pacify me.

"Well, they say that they were…you know…"

"Wait, wait. Are you saying that the First Commandant's wife was having an affair with a female gypsy?"

"Well, that's what the soldiers who witnessed the incident say. I don't know how reliable their word is."

"Wow. Has word reached the higher officials yet?"

"Last I heard, they've already sent a new officer to be the First Commandant of Auschwitz. Eberhardt's career and reputation have been destroyed. He's out for blood. They sent him and his baby back to Berlin."

"He has a baby? Wow, this is some scandal. And the wife and the gypsy just slipped out, again, right under his nose?"

The soldier laughed. "Something else, isn't it? One of the most feared men in Poland and he can't even keep his own wife in line."

"It really is something. Listen, we'd better report back to the headquarters. Remember what happened the last time we were late?"

"Yes, I do, and I do not want to repeat that again. Come."

We held our breaths again as the soldiers hurried past us, completely oblivious to our presence. Almost in unison, we let out sighs of relief. I turned to Rolf and Santana. "They're in Berlin. We have to find a way to get to Berlin."

Bolek gazed at us, his eyes thoughtful. He met Rolf's eyes. "There are rumors of an underground railroad system that smuggles escapees from Auschwitz to other places in Europe. I know someone who might know more about this."

Rolf nodded curtly and turned to us, his eyes questioning. I glanced at Santana, and I could see that the same thought that had been passing through my mind was passing through hers—we'd do whatever it took to rescue our son.