I grabbed my startled son, instinct forcing me away from the window and out of the room. Jürgen was shouting behind me—what is it? Sofie? And then he must have seen for himself. I heard him shout, “Oh my God!”

“Mama?” Felix called out.

“It’s okay, baby,” I said, my voice shaking as much as my knees. I took him into Gisela’s room and all but threw him onto the bed.

“Mama?” she mumbled, even as she opened her arms to her brother.

“Stay here,” I said fiercely. “Stay here and stay away from the windows.”

I ran toward the back of the house—I could tell from the cool breeze coming down the hall that the laundry room door was open. I surmised that Jürgen had gone out that way into the backyard. Had it been Lizzie Miller’s brother staring through my window? I thought so, but couldn’t be sure. It all happened so fast in the predawn light.

I’d just stepped out of the laundry room into the yard when I heard an explosion—so sudden and so loud that dogs began to bark, and the birds in the trees squawked as they scattered into the silvery sky. My instincts told me to run away from it, but I wasn’t sure where Jürgen was, so instead I ran toward the sound. As I rounded the corner of the house, my footsteps stalled. Jürgen was on the ground, in a heap against the wall.

A dozen or so feet away from him in the middle of our small yard, Lizzie Miller’s brother was standing with a handgun dangling limply from his hand, an expression of shock and disbelief on his face. He released a low whimper when he saw me. Then he dropped the gun and leaped over the low fence in the back of our yard.

The instant Henry was away from the gun, I ran to Jürgen. He was alive—his eyes wild as he stared at me. His hands were clutching his abdomen. The bloodstain on his nightshirt was spreading fast, and he was sucking in deep, desperate breaths.

After everything we’d survived, I couldn’t lose him like this.

“Jürgen—” I whispered. I pressed my hands over his, trying to stem the bleeding. “You’re going to be okay. It’s going to be fine.”

“Sofie,” he gasped.

“Gisela!” I shouted. “Gisela, call for help!” Could she even hear me from her bedroom? She certainly would have heard the gunshot, but my daughter was smart. That sound probably drove her to hide. “Someone help us!” I called, and then I went weak with relief when Klaus appeared at the fence next door.

“Sofie? My God! What’s happened?”