“Well, I’m afraid Lydia may be in for a shock, because Karl surrendered to the Soviets weeks ago,” Jürgen said, as he hung his filthy hat on the coatrack. I gingerly scooped it off and set it near his suitcase on the ground.

“That needs a wash.” I waved my hand vaguely over the general direction of his body. “All of you needs a wash.” But then I paused and gasped. “Did you say Karl surrendered to the Soviets?”

“He tried to convince me to go with him. When I refused, he assembled a group of the other scientists, including Aldo, and fled like a rat on a sinking ship. Karl’s an SS officer and war criminal, for God’s sake, just as I am. Why would anyone pardon us? He’s probably in some miserable Soviet prison right now, just where he belongs.” Jürgen sighed and shook his head. “Even if they did offer him refuge for some unfathomable reason, what good is freedom to Karl? He had to abandon his wife and children to get it.”

I skimmed my eyes down Jürgen’s body and took it all in—the scratch on his arm that looked like he’d had an encounter with a sharp bush; the mud on his cheek; the crumpled, smelly clothes.

“It hasn’t been easy to get home,” he said, following my gaze. “It won’t be long before Berlin falls. I’m glad I came—things will get worse before they get better. I’ll stay with you and try to keep you and the children safe until it’s over. Then I’ll surrender to whomever takes the city.”

Jürgen was already starting up the stair toward the bathroom. I cleared my throat, and he looked back at me expectantly.

“Georg was sent to Kassel with his Hitler Youth unit,” I blurted. Shock echoed across his features, then an unmistakable terror. “I tried. I promise I tried to convince him to stay. There was no talking sense into him.”

That night, as terrified as I was, as uncertain as the future was—I had an unexpected blessing to be grateful for. For all that was wrong in our past and in our world, at least Jürgen and I were together in our anxiety and our despair.

I was folding laundry the next day when the knock at the door came. I dropped Gisela’s undershirt back into the basket and started walking briskly to answer it, but Jürgen beat me to it.

“…so I decided to come home,” I heard him say, his tone gentle. “But come on inside. We’ll make some tea and I’ll tell you—”

“Just tell me where he is,” Lydia said flatly. After a fraught pause, she asked unevenly, “Is he dead, Jürgen? I’d rather know.”