14
Someone along her corridor was having a party. A family celebration, she guessed, thrown by the woman three doors down on the other side. Such celebrations had been regular events as far back as she could remember. Even during the Occupation they had continued them, swearing her to secrecy when she had stumbled upon them one evening. She had admired them for that resistance, however small and inconsequential, but tonight she found the sound of their cheer offensive.
No one had a right to such joy. Not until she forced her own to return.
Another convoy had come that morning, and off she had rushed to the hospital, searching and searching and finding no one. They came less frequently now, but that meant nothing. There always had to be those who came last. No doubt her parents would be
