Before Our Dawn| ongoing

thirty-two

Chapitre trente-deux
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Isra's eyes fluttered open, the remnants of slumber clinging to her thoughts, creating a brief, blissful illusion that everything had been a horrendous dream. As her gaze adjusted to the soft, filtered morning light, her heart sank. The unmistakable sight of her own bedroom came into focus, and her fingers brushed against the cool, coarse fabric of the bed sheet.

Her eyes fell upon the harrowing sight that shattered her fragile hope. There, right where he had sat in the darkness of the night, lay Hans' armband, bearing that dreaded symbol. The memory of the previous night washed over her, crashing like a relentless tide.

Tears built up, blurring her vision as she reached for the discarded armband, feeling the dry, caked blood on the fabric, her own blood. The weight of despair settled upon her chest, and she clutched the armband tightly, her fingers trembling as they caressed its unforgiving surface, bearing witness to the horrors that had unfolded.

In the somber haze of morning, Isra moved through her routine with mechanical precision, her body a mere vessel carrying out the motions of life while her spirit remained adrift in sorrow's depths. 

From the bathroom to the breakfast table, and lastly, to work.

She wore black today. Fitting.

"Good morning, Isra," Marie greeted her, marching back and forth, grabbing fabric, putting it down, grabbing it again. 

Colette, her nimble fingers expertly guiding the fabric under the needle, offered a warm smile. "You're quite early today. You don't usually get here for another hour. Where's Sophie?"

Isra hung her handbag on the coat hanger, her movements bereft of their usual vivacity, and trudged to her sewing machine. "Gone," she said; there was no need to lie.

Marie and Colette exchanged glances with each other, confused. "Gone?" Marie sought clarification.

"Yes." Isra sorted through the unfinished clothing left to sew. "Gone. She was taken yesterday, taken to a camp. She's gone."

"Isra--"

"I'd rather just focus on my work today," she added. "Please, I can't discuss this."

Yesterday, none of it felt real. But today, being in the shop and completing her sewing made Sophie's absence apparent. She would rather not dwell on it and instead do what she came here to do—work. To add insult to injury, she had to decide what to do with the baby, her and Hans' baby. That was also real. There was no time to recount the details of Sophie's disappearance. She was simply gone. Like that. Like smoke.

Marie nodded understandingly. "Yes, I understand. I'm so sorry, Isra."

Over the next five hours, Isra sewed tirelessly. Her hands never paused her work.

At around one in the afternoon, she itched for a cigarette, but remembering the baby, tucked away the packet into her handbag and returned to work. They had some gowns to make and a few other clothes to amend, so all in all, it had been a fairly lax day. For as long as she could, she distracted herself with the fabrics and measurements and details, pushing out the tragedy that had occurred, knowing that crumbling to pieces here of all places would be needless.

As the clock neared five in the evening, they prepared to close the shop. Exhausted from a day of relentless sewing, Isra was gathering her things when Colette kindly suggested grabbing a meal at the nearby café. It was then that Isra realized she hadn't eaten a morsel since breakfast, which consisted of an apple. Grateful for the invitation, she accepted with a quiet "yes," her fatigue and hunger taking their toll on her.