Something from the life my mother used to daydream aloud while cleaning rich women's apartments.
My throat tightened painfully.
This wasn't right.
Nothing about this was right.
The car stopped at the foot of the steps. A man in a pressed black suit—an actual butler—stepped forward and opened the door with a gentle bow.
"Fräulein Weber," he said, as if he'd been expecting me for years. "Please, follow me."
My legs shook as I stepped out. The garden soil was fragrant, rich and alive, something I hadn't smelled in years. It made my chest ache. Inside, the villa was even more unreal. Plush carpets muffled every footstep. Golden sconces flickered with warm lamplight. The walls were lined with dark, polished wood, gleaming so clean I could see my reflection in it.
Portraits hung from the walls, men in uniforms, women in pearls, landscapes untouched by war. It felt likestepping into a dream. Into someone else's life. Into a memory I didn't belong to. The butler led me down a hallway where the air smelled faintly of lemon polish and soap, luxury scents. My heart punched against my ribs, too fast, too much. At the end of the hall, double doors stood open.
In the center of a sitting room—more beautiful than any place I had ever seen—stood a man.
Tall.
Pale, but well-fed.
Dressed in a perfectly tailored suit, shoes polished to a shine. His hair was thinner, his jaw sharper, but—my breath caught. My knees nearly buckled.
"Vati," I whispered.
He turned. And smiled.
"Inga," he breathed, stepping forward with open arms.
A sob broke from me before I even knew it was coming. I ran—sprinting across the carpet—and flung myself into his arms. He caught me easily, lifting me the way he used to when I was small, when the world was safe and warm and full of promise. I buried my face against his chest, inhaling the scent of soap and wool and the faintest trace of tobacco. For one moment—one precious, stolen moment—I let myself ignore every warning my instincts screamed. I let myself believe I was safe. That Klaus was safe. That my father had come back to me from the dead. I let myself be a daughter again.
"Vati," I sobbed. "Vati—Vati—oh God, you're alive."
His hand stroked the back of my head. "Yes, mein Mädchen," he murmured, voice warm and soothing. "I'm alive. I'm here."
I clung tighter. For just one heartbeat, I didn't question anything. I just held on. I was a child again, safe in my father's arms, his coat scratchy against my cheek, his chest warm and familiar. His hand stroked my hair exactly the way he used to, slow, soothing, gentle. Time didn't exist. The world fell away, all the fear and hunger and years of loneliness dissolving like dust on my tongue.
But then reality crept back in. Like cold water rising slowly around my ankles.
Klaus.
Where was Klaus?
I stiffened and pulled back just enough to look at him. His face, older, drawn, but well-fed, his cheeks fuller than mine had been in years, blurred through my tears. "Vati… where is Klaus?"
He smiled, soft and paternal, brushing a strand of hair from my forehead. "He's asleep, mein Engel—my angel. Safe. You'll see him soon."
Relief and panic twisted together in my chest. He cupped my face with both hands, tilting it up toward the light. "Let me look at you," he whispered, eyes shining. "Gott, you've grown. You're a jungeFrau—young woman—now… and so beautiful. My little girl. You look so much like your mother."
My throat tightened. Tears poured freely again. "I missed you," I sobbed. "I missed you so much."
"I know." He pulled me close, holding me with a strength that felt both comforting and frightening. "You were everything that kept me alive. Everything that helped me survive."
I clung to him, desperate and confused.
"What happened?" I whispered.
He sighed and guided me to sit on the edge of a velvet chaise. The room was too bright, too clean, too rich. My thin skirt felt like it didn't belong anywhere near it.
