was clean and lonely in the cold

r a moment before the n

ld in mine. She wore a black veil, but I could se

ans. A hero. That' s what the flags and the

my father, the man who rescued me from a bombed-out o

re sharp, perfect. They presented it to Helen. Sh

when I

crowd. She was young, dressed in a black dress that was too t

erals and the politicians. Her eyes, wet with tears that

said, her voice l

Cameras that had been respectful

to leave her f

hand on her s

son. His only

I squeezed her hand, trying to hold her

r, was a lie. A walking

ne thing that made h

Marcus Evans, the