Some characters come to you fully formed. Others reveal themselves slowly, like a memory rising to the surface. Zofia was both.

She began as a piece of family history—a real woman, a relative I didn’t grow up knowing about. I only discovered her story after my mother, who was adopted, connected with newly discovered relatives through Ancestry DNA. One of them told us about a sister of my grandfather who had stayed behind in Poland during the Second World War.

Her name was not Zofia. But her story was unforgettable.

The Real Story

She was a pharmacist in what was then Lwów, in Nazi-occupied Poland. In 1942, when the Nazis entered her town, they demanded someone educated, someone fluent in German, someone capable of managing the names and schedules for Jewish men and boys sent into forced labour.

She was that someone.

And she refused.

She would not cooperate. She would not hand over names. She would not be complicit.

So they hanged her in the town square as a warning to others.

A New Mountain

I renamed her Zofia in my story, and gave her village the fictional name Nowa Góra—Polish for New Mountain. Because that’s what she became to me: a mountain. Steadfast. Immovable. Towering.

The moment she refused to surrender others for her own safety, she became something larger than herself—a force.

And I couldn’t let her be forgotten.

Zofia in the Novel

In The Second Coming of Grace, Zofia is not just a historical figure. She’s a living legacy.

She watches over her younger sister Rivka, who is just four years old when Zofia dies and is Grace’s grandmother when the novel begins. Grace, generations later, carries the echoes of that relationship—especially in the bond she shares with her grandmother.

Zofia represents Grace’s roots, her resilience, and the price of standing firm in the face of cruelty. Her courage becomes a touchstone for Grace as she faces her own inner doubts and external pressure to conform.

When Grace questions her identity, when she’s told to be more “marketable,” when she’s pressured to abandon her heritage to succeed—Zofia becomes a quiet, spiritual presence that says: You come from strength. Don’t forget that.

Writing Through Tears

Writing Zofia’s story wasn’t easy. There were moments I had to stop typing, overwhelmed by the emotion. I’d find myself in tears, especially when writing about the tender scenes between Zofia and little Rivka.

Even though Rivka is fictional in this version, I needed that connection—a thread to the present, and to Grace. It was a way to show that the choices we make echo forward, often further than we can imagine.

And as I wrote, I kept thinking: This really happened.

People were that brave.
People were that cruel.
And families—like mine—were changed forever.

From Short Story to Novel

I first told Zofia’s story in a standalone short story titled The Pharmacist of Nowa Góra, and I’m thrilled to be releasing it soon—possibly even by the time you read this—on Kindle Direct Publishing.

That story stands on its own, but it also sets the emotional and spiritual groundwork for The Second Coming of Grace. It’s a story of resistance, legacy, and quiet bravery—and I’m honoured to share it.

Do you have an ancestor or family story that inspires you? One that’s shaped how you see yourself? I’d love to hear about it—drop a comment below.

Next Friday, I’ll take you behind the scenes into the spiritual worldbuilding of The Second Coming of Grace—clairsentience, reincarnation, ancestral memory, and how all of it came together into one unforgettable story.