Hopes of Finding the Family

As the evening settles in, around twenty of our Society members, including the new refugees, gather around the large wooden table on the second floor. The room is filled with a warmth that contrasts the cool night air outside, the soft hum of laughter and chatter blending with the clinking of utensils against plates. A variety of dishes—steaming, colorful, and fragrant—are spread out before us, accompanied by glasses of apple juice and non-alcoholic cocktails, the fizzy bubbles rising like small bursts of celebration. People are eating and talking, their voices light, the weight of the day momentarily forgotten in the joy of the moment.

I sit amidst it all, the lively atmosphere wrapping around me like a blanket. My eyes drift over the faces of the people I've come to call family—smiling, laughing, some telling stories, others just enjoying the food. But then I hear the familiar sound of the first-floor entrance door creaking open, the soft scrape of shoes on the floor. Without thinking, I jump up from my seat and hurry down the stairs, the sound of my feet echoing in the otherwise quiet hallway.

At the bottom of the stairs, I see him—June, a file in his hand, looking like the weight of the world just lifted off his shoulders. His tired but satisfied expression meets mine, and he grins.

"Just got the ship tickets for all the names on the list," he says, his voice tinged with relief.

"Great," I respond, my tone thick with satisfaction. 

A small, victorious smile tugs at my lips. With the tickets in hand, the refugees who have been waiting so long for a chance at safety can finally leave, head toward a city where they'll be free from fear. The thought fills me with a warmth I can't quite explain, a quiet pride in what we've accomplished today.

"Come up. You should have dinner with us. Angela prepared so much as a celebration for today's mission accomplished," I say, gesturing toward the second floor.

June shakes his head, a faint, almost apologetic smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

"I'll pass on it. I'm a little tired," he replies, rubbing the back of his neck as if to emphasize his weariness.

"All right then," I say, tilting my head slightly in understanding. I know how much he's been pushing himself lately. But the momentary pang of disappointment is brief—after all, there are others to enjoy the meal.

Before he turns to leave, though, June pauses and looks back at me. His expression softens. "You did a great job today, Hannah," he says. "What you did was so brave."

His words catch me off guard, and for a brief moment, I feel my chest tighten with warmth. I smile, though it's small, maybe a little humble, but genuine.

"Right, thank you," I reply, shrugging lightly, not knowing how to fully accept the compliment. "I was just doing my part."

As the evening stretches on, I help Angela clear the dishes, the clatter of plates and cutlery filling the space between us. There's a comfortable ease in the way we work together, side by side, exchanging occasional words or glances as we finish cleaning up. When the last dish is put away, and the kitchen is restored to a quiet order, we both head upstairs.

In the hallway, Angela stops at my bedroom door, pausing before stepping inside. She's staying in the bed next to mine tonight, as many of the refugees are occupying the other rooms. I don't mind at all—there's something comforting about having her near. Her presence fills the room with a quiet, warm energy, and I feel at ease just being around her.

Once inside, I lie down on my bed, the soft cotton sheets cool against my skin. Angela does the same on the bed next to mine, and for a while, there's only the soft light from the lamp on the bedtable, casting a dim, intimate glow over the room. The world outside seems far away in this peaceful space, the noises of the day fading into a quiet hum.

"Grace, are you asleep?" Angela's voice comes softly, cutting through the stillness between us.

I blink slowly, the sound of her voice drawing me out of my thoughts. I turn toward her, smiling softly, my face still warm from the day's emotions.

"No, not yet," I reply, my voice low and calm, the smile tugging at my lips.

Angela looks at me then, her eyes soft, her lips curving into a smile of her own. There's something in the way she looks at me that makes me feel seen, heard, in a way that's rare and precious.

"You did a great job today, Hannah," she says, her voice filled with sincerity. "It was so brave and smart of you to lead the guards into that room while we escaped."

I smile, trying to brush off the weight of the conversation with a casual shrug.

"I'm good at those things," I say, my shoulders lifting in an easy, almost carefree gesture. "Well, it was all thanks to you."

But then Angela's voice drops lower, cutting through the light moment like a sharp blade.

"Hannah, I'm not very sure, but I think I might know where your parents and siblings are…"

The words hang in the air, and before I can fully process them, my heart skips. I turn sharply toward her, my eyes widening.

"You know where my family is…? How did you find out?" My voice rises, thick with a mix of hope and disbelief.

Angela's gaze shifts from me to the floor, her eyes soft, almost pitying, but there's a peace there too—something that tells me she knows something heavy, something important. She speaks slowly, carefully.

"Hannah, you said you came from the town named Rilen, right?"

"Yes, indeed." My voice trembles a little.

"And I found that around 70% of the Rilen people have escaped to the port city Costan," Angela continues, her voice quieter now, almost drowned in the weight of her own words. "They had to take the ships right away, because the soldiers were blocking the way, and it's about seven hours by ship."

My breath hitches, my chest tightening with a sudden, desperate hope.

"I can't guarantee your family's there," she adds, her words laced with caution. "But... there's a high chance they are. The refugees from Rilen, they're all looking for their families in Costan right now. It's the only place where they can go."

My heart starts to race, the rhythm pounding against my ribs. Does this mean—does this mean my family could be in the same city as the refugees? Could they be searching for me right now in the crowded chaos of Costan?

I don't know what to say. I'm frozen, my thoughts spinning, my mind trying to grasp the enormity of what Angela is telling me. Words fail me. I'm left gaping, a storm of emotions swirling in my chest.

Angela looks at me again, this time with a gentleness that stirs something deep inside me.

"Hannah, would you... would you try going to Costan to find your family?" she asks, her voice tentative, almost fearful of what my answer might be.

The question hangs between us like a heavy weight, pulling me in two directions. 

"The way to Costan won't be easy," she continues, her voice steady but filled with warning. "Especially after today's mission. Your face can be recognized by the guards, and they might catch on to your fake ID. You'll need a new one. And even at the port, you'll have to be so careful not to get caught."

I feel the rush of panic building in my chest, like a tidal wave pulling me under. The danger is real. Getting caught means everything could fall apart.

But it's not that part that makes my heart pound painfully. It's not the risk, the escape, the deception. It's the uncertainty—the question that I can't stop thinking about.

I swallow hard, my throat dry, and finally ask the question that's been burning in my chest since the moment Angela spoke about Costan.

"Then… if I go this time…" My voice falters, my words feeling heavier with each breath I take. "Will I be able to come back? To this place... to this safe place?"

Angela looks at me, her eyes clouded with sorrow, and for a moment, everything around us seems to fade. Her gaze holds a sadness I can't quite describe, but it settles deep within me, like a heavy stone sinking into the pit of my stomach. She speaks slowly, carefully, each word carrying a weight that makes my chest tighten.

"It won't be easy," she says softly, her voice almost a whisper. "Once you get to the port city, they'll check your ID, and you wouldn't want to risk using a new fake ID just to come back. They could catch you, and if that happens, it'll be much harder for you to escape next time."

I nod slowly, the weight of her words sinking into me like cold water. I understand. I understand all too well. The risk, the danger—it's all real, and yet, the choice is still mine to make.

"So, if I go... and find my parents in Costan, this might be…" My throat tightens as I speak, and the words become heavier than I expect. "... the last time I see you all."