fiction by Cathy Steinhauer

The Picture

My father met my mother in Dachau. He was already married and had a daughter of twelve. My mother was engaged to a young lawyer at the time. However, both Mama and Papa had been separated from their families by the Gestapo and neither had stopped feeling lonely. So they became friends. This was as much as I knew of that part of their lives while I was growing up. My parents never talked about the war to me. And I never knew what to ask.

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