Sylvia woke up in her makeshift tent on the front yard of the burned synagogue, cradling Baby Lilly, as the September sun rose against the Berlin skyline.
Lilly didn’t move, and her skin with the red rash was blue.
“Wake up, Lilly. Wake up now. Open your . . .” Sylvia felt Lilly’s cold skin.
She screamed and rocked her daughter’s limp and lifeless body. “My baby is dead! You killed my sweet Lilly!”
Across the yard at the guard station, the police officer stepped out. “Shut up, over there!” he shouted. “The Brits just declared war on us!”
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