The War that Saved My Life by Kimberly Brubaker Bradley

A restaurant near the train station was open despite having had its windows
blown out. Susan ordered tea, then took us to the loo and tried to clean us up.
“Where are your crutches?” she asked me. “Oh, Ada, your poor feet.” Despite
my stockings, my feet were covered with cuts. “What happened to your
shoes?”
“Mam took them,” I said. “And then I couldn’t get to the shelter fast
enough. Not before the first bombs fell.”
She pressed her lips together, but didn’t speak. Back in our seats she
continued to sit silently. A waitress brought us sandwiches and we began to
eat.
“How did you find us?” Jamie asked.
“Your mother left her letters behind. One of them had her address on it.
But that building—” She paused. “Well, it took a hit, I’m afraid. But some of
the people who lived there had come back, were standing by the rubble this
morning, and one woman thought she remembered seeing you going down
the stairs.”
Susan made a face. “She remembered passing you, because you were moving
so slowly. So I hoped you’d made it to a shelter. I’ve been searching the
shelters. I never realized there’d be so many.”
I had a more important question. “Why? Why did you come for us, after
you let us go?”
Susan stirred her tea with a spoon, round and round, looking thoughtful.
The restaurant had sugar on the table, but it was bad manners to take more
than a bit. “You’ll find out,” she said at last, “that there are different kinds of
truth. It’s true your mother has a right to you. I was thinking of that when I let
you go.
“But then I couldn’t sleep. I sat in the shelter with the wretched cat and I
realized that no matter what the rules were, I should have kept you. Because it
was also true that you belonged to me. Do you understand that? Can you?”
I said, “We were coming back to you this morning.”
She nodded. “Good.”