Berlin, February 1944
Berlin, February 1944Sabine and her husband of five years Werner sat at their kitchen table having dinner. On the radio, Goebbels’s p********a ministry raved on about yet another glorious victory of the Reich. She wondered whether anyone still believed those lies.
But she didn’t voice her concerns. Not because their small row house on the outskirts of Berlin had paper-thin walls and the sounds of their neighbors on either side could easily be heard. No, she had made it a habit to mind her own business and not complain.
What difference would it make anyway?
Food rationing. Lack of adequate transportation. The horrid nightly bombings by the Allies. The god-awful work in the munitions factory. There was nothing she could do about any of it.
She didn’t even complain,
