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missed it and felt naked without it.

“I watched you with those children tonight, especially the sick boy. You need to have babies. That's what women were made for. You can't deny yourself that.”

“Yes, I can. I have other things.”

“Like what? You have nothing in there except sacrifice and loneliness and prayers.”

“I was never lonely in the convent, Jean-Yves,” she said quietly, and then sighed. “Sometimes I am much lonelier out here.” It was true. She missed convent life and her sisters there. The Mother Superior. And her mother and Daphne. She missed a lot of things. But she was grateful to be here.

“I'm lonely too,” he said sadly, as he looked at her. He saw then that there were tears on her cheeks. “Ma pauvre petite,” he said, and pulled over. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to shout at you.”

“It's all right.” Suddenly she was crying, and he was holding her. She couldn't stop sobbing. It was worse somehow because of Christmas. It had been the year before too. “I miss them so much…I can't believe they're gone…my sister was so beautiful… and my poor mother wanted to do everything for us. She never thought of herself…I always think of what must have happened to them…I know I'll never see them again…oh Jean-Yves …” She sobbed in his arms for a long time as he held her. It was the first time she had allowed herself to let go. She never let herself think of what must have happened to them. She had heard horror stories of Ravensbrück. It was unthinkable that they were gone forever, but in her heart she knew they were.

“I know…I know…I think those things too…I miss my brothers … We've all lost people we love by now. There's no one left who hasn't lost someone.” And then without thinking, he kissed her and she kissed him back. All those months of standing back and respecting the vows she had taken, the life she said she wanted, the convent she wanted to flee to. He didn't want her to. He wanted to spend the rest of his life with her, have babies with her, and take care of her. All they had left now was each other. Everyone else they had ever loved was gone. Both of them. They were like two survivors alone in a lifeboat adrift in a stormy sea, and suddenly they were clinging to each other.

Amadea had no idea what was happening to her, but she was overwhelmed by such waves of desperation and passion, beyond reason, that they couldn't stop kissing and holding on to each other. And before either of them could stop it or control it or even think about it, he was making love to her in the truck, and it was all she wanted. It was as though she had instantly become someone else, someone other than the woman she had been for all these years. Wars did strange things and transformed people. Just as it had her. All her vows were forgotten, her sisters there, the convent, even her love for God. All she wanted and needed at that exact moment was Jean-Yves, and he needed her just as badly. They had both been through too much, lost too much, had been brave too many times for too many people, survived too many terrors while putting on a brave face. All their walls had come tumbling down that night, and he held her afterward, sobbing into her long blond hair and holding her, and all she wanted to do was comfort him. He was the child she had never had and never would, the only man she had ever wanted or loved. She had reproached herself for it a hundred times as she prayed in her room, and now all she wanted was to be his. They looked at each other like two lost children afterward, and he looked at her, terrified.

“Do you hate me?” He hadn't taken her by force, she had wanted him, and welcomed him. They had wanted each other, and needed each other more than they ever knew. They had simply been through too much, and whether or not they acknowledged it, the toll it had taken on both of them was huge.

“No. I could never hate you. I love you, Jean-Yves,” she said quietly. In some part of her, she understood what they'd been through, and forgave them both.

“I love you too. Oh God, how I love you. What are we