In the first hours, Liza waited. She counted the minutes and whispered to her dolls that her mom would be there any moment. Then the days began to blend into one endless, gray wait. She wrapped herself in a thin blanket, sat under the table, hiding from the darkness. When the bread was gone, she scraped the bowl with a spoon, hoping to find even a crumb.

But the nights were the worst. Liza covered her ears with her hands and trembled at every sound: the wind banging the shutters,