Magdalena
Magdalena walked toward the door.
“Mother, it’s me, Magdalena. You didn’t recognize me?” she replied coldly, rolling the suitcases up to the door.
“And this is Sara, my daughter.”
Nazi stared at them in disbelief.
“Magdalena? And this is Sara? What are you doing here? You came?”
“Of course we came, mother. What, did you think we would just appear by ourselves?” There was no warmth or longing in Magdalena’s voice. “Move aside. I’m bringing the suitcases in.”