In Stephen’s old house in Berlin, where Sylvia and Baby Lilly still lived with Nora and Jacob, Sylvia dusted her bedroom with a feather duster. She reached around and dusted the dresser.
She accidentally hit a picture frame, which dropped to the floor, breaking the glass. Sighing, she bent down and carefully picked it up.
It was a picture of her family. They stood in front of the butcher shop, smiling, so proud and happy. Sylvia stared at the picture, as drops of despair ran down her face and splattered onto the picture of her children whom only England could protect.
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