The gun was slippy against his sweating palm. Only a Jew. He could do this.

He tightened his grip on the pistol, crooked his finger against the trigger.

And then she spoke again.

‘Max, it’s me. Elsa.’

Elsa: the name was like a bomb exploding inside him.

Elsa: a firework, coursing through his body, lighting up the parts that had lain dormant and dark for years.

Elsa: his best friend. His first kiss.

And now… and now…

The guards were shouting so loud. Their patience wouldn’t last much longer. It didn’t matter who Max had once been. This was the Max he was now.

He held the pistol with both hands to try to stop the shaking.

ELSA

Moments ago, I didn’t believe I had anything to live for. Death meant nothing to me. It was just the end of suffering.

And now…

His eyes are a bridge into another world. Another lifetime. I can’t even think of it as the past as I can barely believe that was my life. But it was a life. And now he is here in front of me and I remember that life is something worth fighting for.

I can’t let it happen. I’m not just fighting for myself. It feels bigger than that. Am I fighting for Max? For all of us? If I can remind him who he was – who he must surely still be, somewhere beneath that uniform – then perhaps there is a chance I can believe in something again.

‘You don’t have to do this, Max,’ I say quietly enough that the other guards won’t hear me.

He has both hands on his pistol. But he is still resisting. How can I find the words to get through to him?

And then I have a thought. I have something better than words.

‘Wait! Please! One second!’ I beg him.

I need to get it. Need to show him.

He won’t shoot me when he sees it. He has to remember. Has to see me.

I don’t have long. Fevered and frantic, I pull at my sleeve. My fingers hardly work, they are so weak.

Luckily, my dress is even weaker and the fabric tears easily.

Finally, I have it. I pull it away from my ragged clothes. My one remaining possession. The only thing I have left in my life.

I hold it out to him. ‘Here,’ I say. ‘I kept it.’

The guards behind him are yelling. Max still has the gun aimed at me. He’s holding it in both hands, but his hands are shaking. His forehead is soaked in sweat.

My hand is shaking too as I hold the photograph out to him.

‘We thought the world was ours to share,’ I say. ‘Remember?’

MAX