identity | reus + lewandowski

We sat—Robert, Marco, Julian, Thomas, Tom, Chris, and I—in a circle, huddled around a candle; as the entire city (what was left of it, anyways) wouldn't dare turn on the lights after the bombings today.

"So what now?" Tom finally inquired, scratching his hair. Robert let out a breath. Julian stared at me, his eyes still shocked from the truth he'd learned hours ago. We had nothing; not even Marco, who was our best bet, could do anything after losing the camp.

"We could try to go to America," I stated.

"I agree. America!" Thomas grew excited. "Anyone can do whatever they please—"

"No, no." Robert interrupted my brother, slowly shaking his head. "It's too risky. How will we get passports? And transportation?"

I held Chris with my eyes wandering around the room as he tugged on pieces of my hair, leaving me to let out a low ouch every once in a while. "Maybe we should just stay here." I spoke, biting my lip.

"Are you serious?" Julian stared at me with his eyebrows risen. "After Germany attempted to blow this city off of the map, you want to stay?"

"Julian," Marco spoke, his tone warning. The brown-haired German silenced himself, staring at his hands.

"But he's right. Staying here isn't a good idea." Robert stated, running a frustrated hand through his hair. "But traveling, all seven of us, with the hopes of staying together is equally as unrealistic."

We all grew silent with that realization. I, knowing that I was pregnant, knew that I couldn't bare the difficulties of trying to leave, anyways. Robert spoke, again. "I know a woman who shelters children on the countryside. We used to work together when I was with the resistance, smuggling them out of the Warsaw ghetto. She's trustworthy. She's still around, I'm sure of it, and she wouldn't dare deny me if I asked her to take Chris and—"

"No." I interrupted, shaking my head. "No, not my son."

"Margaret, he's my son as well." Robert frowned. "Do you think I want to do this?"

"But—"

"And Julian will be fine in Germany. Right, Julian?" Robert looked to the brown haired German, who nodded. He was still a no-sympathy having Nazi, so living in Germany wouldn't affect him at all. I wondered if he would've saved me if he knew I was Jewish. Certainly not, I concluded.

"So that leaves us three." Robert looked between Marco and I, biting his lip. It really is square one, I thought. Just us three.

"Well?" I spoke, wrapping my arms around Chris. The thought of leaving my son, again, was heartbreaking. I felt even guiltier knowing that I was the reason we were all going through this struggle; quite honestly, their lives would all be much easier without me. But now that I was pregnant with Marco's child, there was no way he was letting me go; and Robert wouldn't dare lose the mother of his second child for the second time.

I felt my cheeks burn. If you'd told me this at age thirteen, I would've giggled at how sultry it was; a decent woman would never have two children by two separate men, neither of which she'd been legitimately wed to.

"Are you blushing?" Tom managed to speak, with a small smile on his lips.

"What? No." I spoke, blushing even more.

"Margaret's blushing!"

"What are you thinking about, Maggie?" Robert grinned a little.

"Yeah, Margaret." Marco chuckled, softly.

"Why do you guys even care?" I crossed my arms. "We have more important things to discuss."

But even Chris was giggling, pinching my pink cheeks; I rolled my eyes and let out a small chuckle for the first time in ages before my brother spoke. "You look flustered, like you've thought of something--"

"I'm just tired, is all." I lied, with a small smile. "How about we all just go to sleep and get some rest...and we'll wake up and figure things out tomorrow."

So, Thomas, Tom, and Chris all slept in one room—it hadn't occurred to me how big my son was until he said goodnight and I love you to me after I told the three boys a story—and Julian slept in one of the many guest bedrooms. I slept alone in my bedroom at first, but eventually Marco joined me and we talked about our unborn child. Then our talks were interrupted by Robert crying out from his bedroom, likely from war nightmares, so I then rushed to check on him.

"Robert, it's alright." I mumbled, running my hands along his wet cheek. "It was just a nightmare. Tell me, what happened?"

"The same thing that always does." He grunted, rolling to face the ceiling. "I get this reoccurring nightmare. Mats, Erik, Mario, and I...God, we all thought we were going to survive! We would just laugh over how we couldn't wait until this damned war was over, that we missed our wives. Well, not quite—I missed you—but we'd always tease Erik because he despised Marielle, and Mario couldn't stand Ann-Kathrin, either. At one point they joked that they'd rather die than go back home to them. It was all banter."

Robert turned to face me, trembling. I hugged him to me as though my life depended on it and he continued to speak, his voice shaky.

"And we'd make stupid plans to wound one another. You know—Erik was going to shoot my arm, while I would shoot his leg—just stupid things like that, because then we'd get sent home. And days before the explosion, we were all standing around in a circle, ready to do it. But I opted out. I was a total wimp. We only had four bullets for each one of us, and we'd promised that if we were going to do this, we would all do it together. Because we wanted to go home together. We were close like that. If one didn't go, the other three couldn't. And now I can't help but think that if we'd just stayed and I didn't wimp out... Oh, God." He cursed, reaching a hand up to wipe his eyes.

"Fucking hell," he muttered. "Even you've been shot twice, Margaret, and I was too wimpy to allow someone I trusted to shoot me. I think of what they would've experienced—a bullet wound—next to what they did experience, their limbs being blown apart, and I just know that it's all my fault." He finished, turning away from me as he let out another agonized groan. I sniffled before tugging on his shoulder and leaning over him, my eyes meeting his.

"This isn't your fault, Robert. None of it is."

"I didn't deserve to survive."

"Yes you did! Don't say that." I spoke, using the sheets to wipe his face.

"No. This life I'm living...it's only for you and Thomas and Chris. But even then there are the times in between, when I'm not with you, and I just feel like nothing. Like when you disappeared, and we didn't know where you were...if you were dead or alive...Margaret, I felt like shit. Like it was all my fault, and it was. I remember you saying you were going to go get the mail. I was going to hold you back and beg you to just stay with me for a few more moments, to kiss you until my lungs ran out of air, but I didn't want to be selfish. So I let you go, thinking you would come back—"

"—Robert." I spoke, pressing my forehead to his. "I love you more than you'll ever know, alright? We'll always be together. In here," I tapped his forehead. "And in here." I placed his hand on my heart. "I promise."

Robert intertwined his fingers with mine and stared at our two hands, which had molded into one silhouette, before his blue eyes pierced mine. He said nothing before he closed his eyes and hugged me into him, resulting in my feeling more than guilty as I stared at the ceiling and felt his lips on my neck. It was in that moment—as the guilt flowed throughout my veins—that I knew; I'd made a promise that I couldn't keep.