# Chapter 11: The Wound That Would Not Close
Hello everyone, it's me again! How are you all doing? Today I will continue to walk with you and review Chapter 11 of *The Girl They Left Behind*. This is a chapter of raw emotions, violent outbursts, deep shame, and a mystery that creeps out from the shadows with a face that looks unsettlingly familiar. Grab a cup of tea, settle in, and let’s step into Natalia’s world together.
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The school day had begun like any other. But by the afternoon, Natalia’s world had split open like a cracked egg. She had been walking, minding her own business, still adjusting to the delicate weight of the earrings her parents had given her—those beautiful little tokens of love that made her feel, for the first time, like a real daughter and not just an orphan who had been taken in. And then the girl stepped directly into her path.
Hands on her hips, chest puffed out like a proud, cruel bird, the girl announced to the whole world, “So our little orphan princess has got herself a pair of nice earrings.”
Natalia felt as if she had been punched in the stomach. The words came crashing over her like ice water. For a moment, she was frozen, swallowing that bitter taste, trying to sidestep the girl. But the girl wasn’t finished.
“Bastard!” she shouted even louder, cupping a hand around her mouth like a megaphone.
Something ignited inside Natalia’s skull. It was as if she floated up out of her own body and watched from afar. She saw her own fist curl into a hard knot. She felt the girl’s sleek ponytail slide through her fingers. She saw the silent “O” of the girl’s mouth, the body pinned beneath her own. And strangely, it felt good. All the hurt, all the shame, all the anger poured out of her through that primal fury. She couldn’t hear the girl’s screams. She couldn’t stop. She only stopped when she was physically lifted into the air.
Mother Superior never left her chair. It was whispered that she suffered from a grave bone disease, and so she ruled the school from behind her desk with the efficiency of a dictator. But when she pushed her chair back, smoothed her skirt, and stood to her full height—taller than a mountain, it seemed—Natalia’s blood froze.
The room was thick with terror. Natalia’s gaze dropped to the ground, her body trembling. Only when the old nun stood before her did she dare look up. A vein bulged across Mother Superior’s wide forehead. Her face seemed almost purple beneath her pristine white wimple.
“It is unfathomable, Natalia!” Mother Superior began, tapping a wooden ruler against her palm like a metronome of doom. “Unfathomable that a girl of your upbringing, of your family’s standing, should behave this way! To think that you’d conduct yourself barbarically, that you’d…” She shook her head, searching for words big enough to capture her disgust. “What do you have to say in your defense?”
Natalia had nothing. The tears she had depended on wouldn’t come. No pleas for forgiveness rose from her throat. She knew her actions had been appalling, but how could she explain to this stern, distant woman that even a meek orphan has boundaries? That those words—that girl’s cruel mouth—had cut deeper than any bullet? Until today, Natalia had believed there was no orphanage, no other life. She had been simply a girl, blessed with parents who loved her enough to put jewels in her ears. Now, all she had was a raw, ugly wound. And she wore it right on her heart.
Mother Superior sighed. The ruler kept tapping. For one horrifying moment, Natalia thought she would be asked to extend her hand for the usual punishment. But instead, the nun merely appraised her with those beady eyes.
“Detention after school for three hours. And that is just to begin. Since you have nothing to say for yourself, your parents will be called in, of course. Surely they will be ashamed, but maybe they can talk some sense into you.”
For the first time that day, Natalia felt the sting of tears.
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By the time she stepped through the school gates, the street was dark and empty. The wind pricked her bare legs, but she barely felt it. The rage was still there, smoldering beneath her skin. Everyone knew now. Everyone knew that word. Her life could never go back to what it was before. What should she tell her parents? What excuse could she possibly offer? She pictured her mother at home, pacing the living room, calling everyone in the phone book, checking with Clara’s parents. It was one disaster stacked on top of another.
She wrapped her coat tightly and quickened her step.
“Natalia!”
She stopped. Turned. Surveyed the empty street. No one. She kept walking.
“Talia! Hello!”
The voice came from a black car parked across the street, half a block ahead, lights off. A ribbon of cigarette smoke curled into the darkness. Her father must have sent a car for her. But when she sprinted across, she realized too late—this wasn’t her father’s Buick. It was larger. The license plate was different.
“Hello, Talia,” a tall figure said, stepping out of the shadows into the pool of light beneath a streetlamp. “Please don’t run. I don’t wish to scare you. I only want to talk for a few moments.”
Natalia could not lift her eyes from the ground. Her bones had dissolved into water. She stared at his loafers as they moved closer. Then he stopped at a safe distance and lifted his hand in a pleasant greeting. He wasn’t a monster—he was a man. A young man, and nice-looking, wearing a fur-collared coat and a dark fedora like her father’s. He smiled awkwardly, as if he was afraid too. As if he only wanted to introduce himself.
Something about him felt familiar. Then it hit her, with the force of a falling anvil. The tiny mole on his cheekbone, sitting exactly where her own tiny mole sat. They bore the same mark.
Natalia’s knees nearly buckled. She stumbled backward, clutching her bag. “I have to go,” she whispered. “I have to go.”
She turned and ran. Her breath tore at her lungs. Her heart pounded louder than the echo of her own steps on the pavement. Her bag slipped from her grasp, but she didn’t stop to pick it up. She didn’t stop until the wide boulevard opened in front of her like an oasis. She darted across the busy street, horns honking at her, cars whirling past. On the other side, among the pedestrians and a peasant boy selling carnations wrapped in newspaper, she finally felt safer.
“Fifty lei! Only fifty lei for fresh-cut carnations!” the boy shouted.
The intersection looked ordinary. She was safe now, among people, under the light. Then something strange caught her eye. Just beyond the flower boy, the thick iron gates of the Swiss embassy swung open. Natalia had never seen them open like that before—no limousine, no guards checking papers, no passengers. The gates simply stood open, revealing darkness except for one faint flickering light in a second-story window.
She didn’t know why she looked back across the boulevard. She didn’t expect to see the car still there. But there it was, barely visible beneath the dim streetlamp. The man was leaning against it, arms folded across his chest. Even from that distance, she could see his eyes were resigned, as if he had no intention of chasing her.
Shuddering in the breeze, Natalia broke into a full sprint. She did not stop until she found herself standing directly in front of her own home.
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**April 1944**
In the Goza household, Easter preparations always began a week in advance. Despina, Natalia’s mother, lay awake every night torturing herself over the seven-course menu. By the time she finally drifted to sleep, every pinch of salt, every grain of pepper, every spice had already been measured and memorized in her mind. Nothing less than an epic feast would do.
By the morning of Good Friday, only the shortbread pastries remained—to be sprinkled with sugar and arranged in neat rows on the silver trays like worshipful angels with folded wings, welcoming the most festive day of the year. And this particular Friday glowed with the promise of a glorious Easter. A restless, effervescent energy bubbled up all over the city. Perfect strangers smiled at each other while queuing for last-minute purchases—color for eggs, nutmeg, or white candles to light at midnight mass and carry home to burn in their windows.
Then Despina looked inside the china cabinet. Alarm fluttered through her chest. Only ten wine goblets had survived the last dinner party. Ten matching glasses simply would not do for the table, and she refused to mix them with the smaller set. Not with a new guest joining them for the first time.
Anton knew it was pointless to argue. Nothing would keep Despina from hunting for new crystal at the last minute. So, exchanging a patient glance, he and Natalia followed her out into the crisp morning air. Crystal or no crystal, the day was indeed glorious.
But we know something I do not think the Goza family knows yet. That strange mole on the young man’s cheek, hanging over Natalia like a shadow, is not going to simply fade away. And whether Easter will be a time of resurrection or revelation—well, friends, that remains to be seen.
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**Reader’s Impressions & Star Rating**
This chapter is a masterpiece of tension. The way Natalia snaps under the pressure of that terrible word feels brutally real—it’s not pretty, it’s not noble, but it is raw and human. Mother Superior’s intimidating presence made me hold my breath. And that street encounter with the man who shares Natalia’s exact mole sent chills down my spine. There is a quiet, ominous mystery building here, and the contrast between Natalia’s violent anger and the gentle Easter preparations only makes the story richer. I was completely swept up from beginning to end.
⭐️ Rating: 4.9 / 5 stars
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**Next Chapter Prediction**
I predict that Natalia will have to face difficult questions from her parents about her fight, but that will be overshadowed by the mysterious man revealing his identity. Given the identical mole, I suspect he might be connected to her true birth family—possibly a brother or some other relative who has come to pull her into a secret world she never knew existed. The open gates of the Swiss embassy might also be more than just an odd detail, possibly hinting at escape, danger, or a hidden history waiting to be unlocked.
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