I bent to kiss his hand in acknowledgement of his pain.

He smiled sadly. ‘I don’t know how we deal with that but I suppose the first step is to accept the truth.’

I nodded, thinking of Fräu Andree. What had she really thought of people like me? I blushed with shame and embarrassment. I hadn’t known any better. I prayed that she had survived, wherever she was. Maybe one day I would find her again… but what could I say to her?

*

The early months of 1947 flew past. Greta filled my days and nights, delighting Erich and myself with her antics. She was beginning to eat solid foods and was teething, often sucking and biting the locket I still wore. My parents’ tiny photo remained inside but I had replaced Heinrich’s photo with an old picture of Erich. I wished I had a photo of Greta to put inside, unable to have my film developed yet, but her memory was imprinted on the locket anyway – these days it was often covered in baby saliva, little tooth marks pitting its surface. It was dearer to me than ever.

I photographed those early baby days with care, choosing between those little moments that presented themselves – the delight when she could sit on her own; milk all over her mouth when she was first learning to drink from a cup; the triumph on her face when she realised she could get herself around by crawling. Film was near impossible to get and I wanted Vati’s film to last as long as possible. Thanks to him, I could capture those precious times and keep the dream alive that maybe one day I could practice my craft professionally.

Finally, I was able to wean her and was grateful to have my body back to myself. Erich was pleased too when Greta began to sleep through the nights and I could devote some of my energies to him once again. I had forgotten what slow, deliberate lovemaking could be like and I delighted in Erich’s attentions, feeling like a desirable woman in his arms, not just a mother, a milking cow.

By May, I was pregnant again. Of course, I was thrilled, but how we would manage to feed another child worried me a little. Erich had no such concerns.

‘We’ll be fine,’ he said pulling me close and kissing me tenderly. ‘Don’t worry about anything except looking after yourself and this little one.’ He placed his hand gently over my belly. ‘You’ll see. Things will look up soon.’

I nodded, amazed at his optimism in even the most difficult situations.

Then he landed a job as an assistant superintendent of the Industrial Police, aiding in the security and safety of the industrial sites at the American Ordinance Depot in Illesheim. The American air force had left Illesheim and the US army had taken over. All POW labour had ceased early in the year when most of the prisoners of war were released across Germany. Now Germans were actively sought for employment.

My parents came to visit. Mutti had visited a few times with my father already, including for Greta’s first birthday in July. I had been terribly nervous, worried about what she would say about our living conditions and marriage. I was terribly surprised to discover that she adored Greta and I think she was too. Whenever she visited, she doted on her, rocking her to sleep, playing with her in her crib, taking her for walks in her pram with Vati. Although she continued to look at Erich with disapproval, we were talking again, almost back to normal.

Mutti arrived waving an envelope excitedly in my face. ‘Look what we received,’ she said gleefully.

‘What is it?’ I asked, too tired to play her games. Greta had been unsettled all night and I had little energy with this pregnancy.

‘It’s a letter of course.’ Mutti frowned, unhappy that I didn’t share her excitement. ‘Don’t you want to know who it’s from?’

‘Who’s it from?’ I asked, thumping the teapot onto the table harder than I needed to.

‘Heinrich.’

The smug look on her face made my blood boil and I had to work hard to control the shaking of my hands as I poured the tea.

‘He’s finally left the camp in Denmark and he’s back in Germany.’

I sat heavily on my chair. I had been dreading this for years. ‘Is he all right? Is he home?’

‘He’s in good health, he says, and in Hamburg.’ Mutti took a delicate sip from her cup. ‘He comes home in a few days and he’s looking forward to seeing you.’

All the old emotions surfaced once more, the guilt, shame, sadness at what might have been and the loss of my best friend. A wave of regret washed over me.

‘I’m glad he’s safe and well,’ I said softly, not looking at my mother. ‘He doesn’t know, then?’

‘He will when he gets home. His mother’s furious with you still. She’ll have him married off to the first eligible girl she can find if you don’t claim him first.’ Mutti put down her cup. ‘He loves you and I think he will take on Greta as his own if you go to him. As for this other child, you could almost pass it off as his if you move quickly.’

I stood, shaking with rage. ‘I’ve told you already, I won’t leave Erich. He’s the father of my children and we are a family. You don’t have to like it but it’s not about to change.’

‘You’ll break his heart. He doesn’t deserve that.’

‘I know,’ I said, stricken by the pain I would cause him when he found out. All the anger flowed out of me and I stared at her, deflated. ‘It’s too late to change what’s happened. I’ll have to live with that.’

Mutti put down her tea. ‘Fine. I’ll leave the letter here for you to read. I think you should at least write to him before his mother poisons his mind against you. He was your friend, after all. I’ll give him the letter when we get home.’ She patted my hand as she stood. ‘I’ll go and find your father and see how he’s doing with Greta.’ She left the room with me standing there staring at the envelope she had placed on the table.

I had to read that letter. I couldn’t help myself. I noticed it had been addressed to me and my hackles rose once again at the fact that my mother had opened and read the letter when she knew she was coming to see me.

Liebe Lotte,

I am finally free. I’ve been in Denmark since the last weeks of the war. I was able to escape from East Prussia and the Red Army along with a number of units. I ended up in one of the large refugee camps, one of very few doctors assigned to look after the refugees. That’s where I stayed after the war ended, but as a prisoner of war, battling the rampant sickness and disease, made more acute by starvation and malnutrition. In some ways this was worse than what I had seen on the front line. Many of the deaths I witnessed were preventable. Many were innocent children. Many who made it through the horrors of the war perished here. My blackest days were made bearable by thoughts of you and the conversations we might have.

Enough of the war and sadness. I am alive, safe and well enough. I am back in Germany now, in Hamburg. In a week or so, I’ll be able to begin my journey home, back to München and back to you. I hope these last years have kept you and your family safe and well. I know in my heart that you are. I can’t tell you how much I’m looking forward to seeing you again, to look on you with my own eyes, longing to kissing your soft lips, to touch you and hold you so I’ll never let go.

Tell your mother to prepare our wedding.

Yours forever, Heinrich.

I was a mess. This was my old life calling to me. A life of privilege and luxury, where my children and I would want for nothing. A life that could never be. The war had changed me and I was not the girl Heinrich had left in 1944. I could never go back. My greatest regret was how much I would hurt him. I wanted nothing more than to see him again, share stories of our years apart, but I knew he would never speak to me after what I had done. One of my oldest and dearest friends ripped away from me, as surely as if he were dead.

I ran from the cottage out into the meadow. I had to get away from the spectre of what I knew I had to do. I had to mourn my loss before I would be able to tell him goodbye. It was late summer and the last of the wildflowers, red, blue, yellow and white blazoned bright among the long, dry grass, reminding me that even when all seemed doomed and lost, hope was eternal. I had my memories of my time with Heinrich, of what we had shared. I had to remember them with fondness but my life with Erich and Greta was real and full of colour, like the flowers. Together we would tackle the difficulties we faced. I had immeasurable joy ahead of me, I reminded myself, my hand over the slope of my belly. This was my life now.

I turned back to the cottage, calm enough to write the letter Heinrich deserved to receive.

*

It became my habit to check the mail but when Heinrich’s letter arrived several months later, I stood there, not believing it was possible. My legs were so weak I could barely walk back into the house. The letter sat on the dining table, making my head pound whenever I glanced at it. I couldn’t concentrate on anything else and yet I waited until Greta was down for her afternoon sleep before I opened it. My hands shook so badly it took me some minutes to get the sheets of paper free from the envelope. A wave of nausea threatened to send me running outside, which was something I hadn’t done since the early months of my pregnancy. Steeling myself, I took some deep breaths to calm my wildly beating heart.

Lotte,

I know you have been waiting for me to respond to your letter but I couldn’t bring myself to do so until now. I was shocked by your news, angry and distraught. I didn’t want to write to you in anger, with words I could never take back. My mother refuses to allow your name to be spoken in her presence and would not speak to me about what happened to you. Your mother has been good to me, confirming that you were forced into marriage with Erich, a result of the unusual and difficult circumstances you found yourself in.