Chapter 21“Those children are back.”
He stood at the window and called over his shoulder to his wife, watching the two blonde children as they rounded a corner and disappeared from view.
“Which children, dear?” Marie asked, looking up from where she stood in the kitchen, an array of vegetables before her, a knife in her hand.
He turned towards her, somewhat frustrated that she didn’t remember him talking to her earlier of the matter.
“The blonde ones,” he said irritably. “The foreign ones.”
At his wife’s back, the radio played to itself, a single word repeated time and time again through its gentle whispers:
“—tape.”
Marie frowned.
“Where are their parents?”
He shrugged.
“How am I supposed to know?” he muttered, looking down at the watch on his wrist. “I can barely keep track of
