The fact remains that while I thought of you every day, you were with this man, making babies with him, a family that should have been mine. I waited for you, to have you on our wedding night as you wanted, yet you wasted no time consummating your union with him, giving him a child.

All the same, I understand that you did what you had to. You had no assurance that I would return to you, that I was even alive. But here I am. I still love you. I don’t want anyone else, just you. Your mother tells me to be patient if I truly feel this way about you. I would marry you tomorrow, if you would have me. The war is over now. Things we all did to survive that time are behind us. Leave Erich and come home. Live the life you were meant to lead, with me. I will cherish your children as my own. We can be a family together.

Only say that you will think about it.

You’re in my heart always, Heinrich.

I sat there staring at the familiar handwriting with conflicting emotions. He had forgiven me. How could he still love me after what I had done to him? I had been sure that he would hate me and had been prepared for that, muscles tensed, expecting an outpouring of vitriol. Instead, I was confronted with his declaration of love, horrified at his request, horrified that he had given me a choice and horrified that I was tempted. Here was the Heinrich I had craved during the war, a man willing to fight for me. Yet I would be the one to sacrifice my hard-won happiness, no matter my circumstances.

I couldn’t help but imagine the large house with enough space to move, sparkling clean, with good quality furnishings, art and objects of beauty scattered tastefully around the rooms. I sighed wistfully at the thought of full indoor plumbing, hot, running water and electricity. The thought of fashionable clothes that actually fit, shoes – oh, the shoes – a nursemaid to help with the children, fine food and wide sweeping gardens with no mud and no stench of animal manure was enough to make my hand twitch with the desire to pick up a pen and reply before I could talk myself out of my fantasy.

True, Greta would have everything she desired, except her real father – a man who adored her, who adored me and who valued his family above everything else in the world. I didn’t know if I could say that about Heinrich – words were one thing, actions were another – and I couldn’t do that to Greta. I knew how important it was to be cherished and loved by both parents, to feel wanted, safe and secure in a family home. It was everything I didn’t have growing up. Erich had taught me about love and family and it was his bed that I went to willingly every night.

Despite my longing for my old life and the dream of giving my children the very best, I couldn’t do it. I regretted hurting him more than anything, but Heinrich would have to let me go.

*

It was a cold February day when I went into labour. I was home alone with Greta. I would never forget losing my first child and although Greta had been born with no trouble, I was on my own this time and I was desperately afraid of something going wrong. There was no midwife in Ickleheim and I doubted the midwife in Windsheim could arrive in time, even if I’d been able to call her.

I couldn’t show my fear to Greta, who was tottering around now, chattering away in a language only she understood.

‘The new baby is coming today,’ I said to her. ‘Come and help Mutti make the crib and get ready.’

She understood enough to help me for a while, preparing the crib with a blanket that she knew was for the new baby and making the bed with old towels and sheets. It was a novelty to her, something different to our usual routine. All the while I worried about how long I could last like this, hiding my discomfort and anxiety from her, bracing myself on the edge of the bed as ever-increasing waves of pain gripped me.

I sliced some bread and made sandwiches for us while I still could. Pouring Greta a cup of milk, I noticed a thin layer of ice had formed over the milk jug and a stab of concern jolted through me. The temperature was dropping quickly and it was only lunchtime. The wood fire keeping us warm through the night and fuelling our stove for a warm breakfast had long burnt out. I couldn’t start another one yet, there wouldn’t be enough wood to keep us warm through what would be a freezing night. With a new baby coming, we needed that warmth for when he or she arrived. I handed Greta her milk, thinking about my options.

‘Let’s get some wood for the stove,’ I said to Greta. ‘We’ll surprise Vati and have it ready for him when he gets home.’

Stumbling out to the wood stack, icy wind blowing straight through us, I gazed at the lowering pewter sky and frowned. There was more snow on the way but how long until it would arrive I didn’t know. At least it would be a little warmer then. I handed Greta a few sticks of kindling and collected an armful of smaller pieces of wood that I could manage to carry.

‘Brrr, it’s cold out here. Quickly, inside now,’ I said, ushering her through the door as quickly as possible. I felt another pain coming on. I only hoped that Erich would be home before it got too cold. If not, I could start the fire, but I wasn’t sure I could keep an eye on it long enough to last through to the evening.

My waters broke and my body moved into a new gear. Things moved along a lot quicker than they had with Greta. Breath ragged in my ears and heart pounding, I knew this baby was coming and soon. I dressed Greta in layers of warm clothes while I still had the presence of mind to do so, and put her down for a sleep in the playpen in the corner of the bedroom where I could still keep an eye on her. No matter what happened now, at least she was safe there. I guessed that she would cry when I limited her freedom, and she did. I sighed. I really needed to focus on the job ahead of me but I couldn’t have expected anything else. I prepared string, scissors, spare towels and a bowl of water by the bed. After a while, I couldn’t concentrate on anything else but the pains and I left Greta to cry herself to sleep in the corner, trying to muffle my groans as the pains came hard and fast.

I climbed up on the bed, thinking that this was happening too fast. ‘Please let it be all right,’ I whispered into the empty air. I couldn’t entertain the thought that something was wrong. The pains were terrible, worse than they ever had been with Greta and my brow was beaded with sweat, despite the breaths I forced from my lungs forming clouds of mist in the frigid room. There was no respite and just when I wondered if I was going to die, I felt the urge to push. I reached down and felt the soft down on the baby’s head before it retracted once again. I was nearly there. I steeled myself. I could do this. It only took a few pushes, barely time to think what I needed to do, before the baby arrived, solid, whole, wet and warm between my legs.

I didn’t allow myself to slump in relief, the danger wasn’t over yet. The baby took a big breath and began to cry, its little pink face turning red with rage. I couldn’t help but smile. I’d be angry too, going from a warm, safe cocoon, into the freezing world. She was a girl, I realised, with ten fingers and toes, pink skinned under the waxy white substance that coated her skin, and perfectly formed. She was beautiful. Tying off the cord that bound us together, I waited a moment, staring at this miracle before me, flexing and stretching her little arms and legs in the air, before severing the link between us.

I wiped her dry and placed her to my breast, keeping us both warm, as she rooted around and finally began to suck. We waited, bound together in that precious moment of finally meeting, until it was time to deliver the afterbirth, and then I placed her into the crib.

Looking out the window to the gloom, I realised it was snowing. It was quiet now. Greta was finally in an exhausted sleep, her dark head resting on a teddy bear, oblivious to the new arrival. The baby, still bloodied, wrapped in a towel and blanket was in the crib. I had done it. I smiled with joy and contentment at the peaceful serenity of having both my children with me, children I had made and birthed. I felt strong and powerful.

It was then that Erich arrived home, tiptoeing through the house in case Greta was still asleep. He found us in the bedroom, a picture of domestic bliss, and he paled visibly when he realised what had happened.

‘Shh,’ I whispered, pointing to Greta in the corner.

Erich hurried across the room. ‘Are you okay?’ His brow was creased in concern and his eyes were wide with fear. ‘The baby?’

‘We’re both fine,’ I assured him. ‘Here, meet your new daughter. I haven’t cleaned her up yet. She was only born about half an hour ago.’

He scooped the baby up and gazed at her as if he was imprinting her face on his brain. ‘She’s beautiful,’ he said, his eyes glistening. ‘I’m so sorry I wasn’t here for you.’

I shrugged. ‘That’s babies for you. They’ll come when they want.’ Erich stooped, the baby still in his arms, and kissed me long and deep.

‘Congratulations, my liebling, my brave, strong, capable, wonderful wife. I’m the luckiest man alive. You did this all on your own and you’re still smiling.’

‘Look at our beautiful family,’ I said, a wave of exhaustion washing over me. I shivered.

‘It’s cold,’ said Erich, handing me the baby. ‘Get some rest while you can. I’ll start the fire and get you some hot water to clean up with.’

‘The stove is ready for you to light. I prepared it in case it got too cold but I never got the chance to light it.’

He kissed me again. ‘I love you more with each passing day, you know.’