“Water,” I croaked, and he moved hastily, fetching me a glass of water from the table. I was trapped. The children were trapped. Standing in a public park on a magnificent day for my son’s birthday party, the claustrophobia was overwhelming.

Ignore the dissonant notes. Focus on the music.

I closed my eyes and tried to breathe my way through the panic. I had to think of something—anything—positive to cling to, but every idea that came to mind represented more misery. Jürgen is never home. Mayim is gone. The children have been brainwashed. My country is broken.

An idea finally struck me and I gasped, the tightness in my chest easing as I sucked in fresh air.

The baby. The baby. I must stay calm for the baby.

I sipped at the water slowly, ever so slowly, as my heart rate began to settle. Jürgen gave me a searching look, but I forced a smile to let him know that I was fine. I walked back to the table, offered the same smile to Lydia, and announced, “We’re expecting.”

My voice was a little hoarse, but that was not unusual, given I’d just been so ill. Lydia didn’t miss a beat—she gave me a delighted grin and exclaimed, “What marvelous news!”

Karl had taken the seat opposite her, and she leaned toward him and said, “Karl, we owe these two congratulations. They are finally pregnant again!”

“Congratulations!” Karl boomed, helping himself to some sweets.

“We’re hoping for another baby right away too,” Lydia said happily, touching a hand to her belly. “These new little ones can be the best of friends, just like the older children.”

“You know the Führer has asked all Reich men to sire four children. Lydia and I are hoping to more than double that,” Karl announced. Then he thumped Jürgen on the back. “I’m so thrilled for you that you’re doing your part too.”

Over his shoulder, I saw that Laura now held the stick, and she was chasing the other children around, laughing and squealing. This time, it was Georg’s turn to fall dramatically to the ground, writhing as he “died.”

Ignore the dissonant notes. Ignore the dissonant notes.

“Maybe it’s time for cake,” I said brightly. “Come on, children. Gather round.”

Focus on the music.

“Are you still comfortable enough to travel?” Jürgen asked when he called in late November. I looked down at my swollen belly. It had taken me much longer to show with my third pregnancy, but I’d more than made up for lost time, and with ten weeks to go, I was already bursting out of my maternity smocks.

“Travel where?” I asked him warily.

“Otto has decided we need to hold a launch in a few weeks here at Peenemünde. Some of the top brass will be in attendance. He suggested you and Lydia might want to come too.”