January 27, 1945 – Auschwitz
Hannah didn't feel the cold anymore.
The snow had stopped falling, but her feet were numb, buried in the frozen mud outside the barracks. Around her, bodies lay still—some dead, some too weak to move. The silence was eerie, broken only by the distant hum of approaching engines.
Rivka lay beside her, barely breathing. Her once-bright eyes, filled with mischief and defiance, were dull now. Hannah squeezed her hand, as if she could somehow keep her here.
"The soldiers…" Rivka's voice was a whisper. "They're coming."
Hannah turned her head, and for the first time in years, she saw something other than barbed wire and gray uniforms. Figures in dark green coats were moving through the gates. The red star on their arms—the symbol of the Soviet army.
Liberation.
She should have felt something—joy, relief, even fear. But all she felt was emptiness.
Rivka's fingers tightened around hers. "We made it," she whispered, a weak smile on her cracked lips. "Hannah, we—"
Her breath hitched. Then, nothing.
Hannah held on to her hand long after it had gone cold.
The war was over.
But she had survived alone.