It's been fifty-one months since I last saw you. One thousand five hundred and fifty days. Four years and too many hours to count.

I thought I would have been used to your absence by now. I thought that hole in my heart would have lessened or found something else to take your place. But that would mean you are dead. And you and Papa are not dead.

Zhanna paused, the ink still fresh but the pen frozen in her hand. The pages of her journal had gone untouched since their arrival in America. She had last written in Britain, sharing with her mother that the plan had been made. They were going to America. Now that they were here and had been for a few weeks she hadn't opened the leather bound book. It had been a gift from Papa before they had left. Before everything had fallen down around them.

We have finally made it to America. It is all so strange, so intense and different. They don't like us, Sveta and I. In Russia, they made our life miserable because we were Polish. Here in America, they don't like me because I am Russian. They don't like either of us. Sveta burns them with that power she has, that glare that could turn someone to stone. I don't have that.

Jumping out of planes wasn't my idea, you know. It's all Sveta. I've told you about her. You'd like her. I was worried I wouldn't be able to stay with her. I'm not a Samsanova. I'm just a Polyakova. In America, I'm not even that.

I'm Zhanna Casmirovna. Don't tell Papa. I'm not losing my heritage, just adapting. Like he always said, "Wherever you go, you can't get rid of yourself"

He had said that as if to justify the polish-ness of their family, Zhanna recalled. Her mother would know what she meant. The brand of Pole that had been burned into the back of Zhanna's head by the glaring eyes. He had pride for his country and for his home. It had been his downfall.

I can't get rid of Zhanna. I can't get rid of Polyakova. I can't get rid of the little Polish girl. So, I have to do my best, take the whispers and the jokes.

Zhanna didn't want to worry Agata. When the journal had been passed into her mother's hands, it would mean that they were all right. That the jokes and whispers were a burden she had shouldered, like she always did. The men had stopped being outrightly against her presence and Zhanna wandered if that had something to do with Sveta's influence.

Our XO is kind. Kinder than the rest, at any rate. Winters is his name. He isn't cold.

We are working hard, all of us. I don't mind the heights or the jumping. I haven't told Sveta but I'm scared that I'm not working hard enough. I'm smaller than the rest. Like back home, I have to run faster, push harder and do more. What if it isn't enough? Am I too weak to get those little wings?

We've passed Hanukkah. I didn't get to celebrate like we have in the past. I didn't get to celebrate at all. Sveta and I were hidden away in a corner of the camp, hiding from the few soldiers who remained on base. Everyone else went home. I can't.

I didn't think I would miss Russia. Not after all they've done and what has been taken from me. From us. But being left in Fort Benning with just Sveta made me realize how much I miss it. Maybe I just miss you?

They had said they would be home for Hanukkah. That this would all be over and they could go home, come back to Zhanna. Four years later and Zhanna wasn't there, waiting for them. What if they had managed to escape after all? What if they had come back to find her and she wasn't there? She had to get back to Russia. She had to shoulder the burden, shoulder the stares and glares and push. Push through with the chains dragging behind her because her parents were alive and waiting for her. She couldn't leave them waiting.

When I come home with Sveta, we will go far far away, where no one will care if we are Polish. No one will care that we are Jewish.This war will be over and my work as a loyal sniper will have paid off. We will be happy and free.

That's all I want for us, Mama. Happiness. Freedom. No fear.

Do you think that's possible?

One thousand five hundred and fifty days and not a minute passes that I don't think of you.

Love,

Zhanna