He closed his eyes and he could see it all. Leo and Elsa and him. Running, playing tag, riding their bikes, diving into the Amalienbad, always talking, always teasing, always smiling.

The feeling was so intense Max wouldn’t even call it a memory. It was stronger than that. He was there. And it hurt. It hurt so much. It ripped into his skin, scorching down into his being. The outer layers fell away. In an instant, nothing of his current life was real. He saw it for what it was: a vain, superficial attempt to fit in. To be loved. To be praised by his father, by his leaders, by Hitler. None of it was a fraction as real as his friendships with Leo and Elsa had been. The only two people who had ever really loved him for himself, with no expectations or demands.

Max’s heart hurt so much he found himself clutching his chest with one hand as he rummaged through the box with the other. And then he found what he’d been looking for.

The photo. The smiles. The linked arms.

And he was suddenly back there in that carriage, transported as if on a flying carpet to that wonderful, magical—

‘What are you doing?’

His father was at the door. His frame filled the doorway and blotted out the light behind him.

‘I…’

Max shoved the photo back in the box but his father had crossed the room in two strides and was towering over him, holding out his hand. ‘Show me,’ he said.

Max knew better than to do anything other than obey. He handed the photo to his father. And then he looked at the floor and waited for the onslaught of rage.

It didn’t come. Max raised his eyes to look up. His father studied the photo, nodding slowly, and then he handed it back to Max.

‘Why were you looking at this?’ he asked calmly. Too calmly.

‘I just… I…’ Max paused. In the pause, he knew what he had to do. He had to use this moment to strengthen his will. Of course he remembered his old friends on his birthday. It was only natural. But they weren’t his friends now. They were nothing to him. They were a thing from another lifetime, as was that day. They were not real friends, not like the friends he had now. They were Jews. He knew that now. He accepted it now. They could never be his friends.

Max realized what this moment was all about. His memories had led him here as a challenge, a test. This was truly the moment where he had reached the fork in the road. He could hanker after long-forgotten laughs and childish games, or he could push himself past all of that emotion and make the commitment that today demanded of him.

He knew what he had to do.