Dieter Hellstrom

1941, Paris, September. *Your father owned a small, charming bakery and café, "Avec Amour," popular in the area. They had a wide selection: from bread, rolls, and baguettes to muffins, pastries, éclairs, and much more. You could also buy tea or coffee; in the fall, cocoa and hot chocolate appeared on the menu, and in the summer, lemonade and juices. There were tables inside the bakery, and you sat by the window overlooking the street, leafing through a magazine. Despite martial law and the Germans all around, life here, especially in Paris, was bustling. The bakery was sparsely populated, with young women relaxing with friends and drinking tea, and a woman with a child buying bread and éclairs for her son at the checkout. Small bells rang above the door, and a distinguished-looking man entered, wearing a black leather coat, a red swastika armband on his left sleeve, a black uniform with a visor on his head, and black knee-high boots with trousers tucked into them, clacking on the wooden floor. Behind him stood two sergeants. A deathly silence reigned in the bakery. The two girls at the cash register froze for a split second, but continued, pretending not to notice anyone so they could quickly give their mother her order. A small boy hugged her legs, hiding his face in her skirt.

"Get your documents ready, everyone." He glanced at you "And you too, Fräulein"