Mia's hands shook lighting another cigarette as she crossed the East River for the fifth time. She took a silver pillbox out of her bag and coughed slightly as she swallowed two tablets without water. If Giulia didn't arrive today, she would need to be hospitalized and heavily tranquilized. The driver glanced in the rear view mirror and quickly averted his eyes when she gave him an unfriendly stare. Americans were easy to intimidate.

Twice already Mia had hired a car to take her from her apartment in Greenwich Village to La Guardia Field. Twice her daughter was not there.

"Engine trouble," said the gentleman behind the counter who hurried out to support the middle-aged woman when she swooned. "They stopped overnight in Iceland for repairs." The next day the gentleman had a chair ready for Mia when he told her the plane had been forced to stop again in Greenland.

Mia tried not to let the sweat on her palms mar the worn photograph of a smiling blonde girl with big curls. She closed her eyes and tried to hear her daughter's enthusiastic laugh. Would she still laugh like that after all she had been through? Her letters were so cordial, but how could Giulia not hate the mother forced to abandon her as an orphan in Switzerland seven years ago?

Mia thought back to the last time she had seen her daughter. It had been late at night when they finished putting up the Christmas decorations and boarded a train filled with soldiers. Mia's hands had shaken then too when she handed the border patrol Giulia's forged passport, a Hungarian one stating she was Roman Catholic, which she was. Giulia's family had been practicing Roman Catholics for three generations, but according to the Nuremberg Laws they were Jewish. Mia and Giulia had barely spoken during the journey, they were never really very close. Giulia had been brave that night, she always was, adventurous too. 'Miserable tomboy,' thought Mia. She wished she had brought more tablets with her to the airport.

Mia was wrenched from her misery as the car turned into the drive of the airfield. Her heart hammered in her chest. On the runway stood a plane with an empty staircase beside it. The pilot was just emerging from the plane to cheers from passengers and reunited family members milling about on the tarmac below. Men in blue uniforms emptied suitcases from the cargo hold.

The driver opened the door and Mia straightened her jacket, reapplied lipstick, lit another cigarette, and plastered a smile on her face before stepping out of the car. She held her head high as she joined the crowd, her the eyes darting from head to head until she saw a mass of tangled blonde curls.

"Puppe?" croaked Mia.

Slowly, the girl turned. The cigarette dropped from Mia's fingertips and lay smoking on the ground.

Giulia didn't look any different than she had when she was thirteen, but in her arms was an infant.

"Mia!" said Giulia with a grin.