William thought of his mother. “She knew, didn’t she?” he asked, knowing the answer in advance.
“She saw the tattoo before they married. He must’ve told her about his past. He could never lie to her,” Ruth said. “She carried that truth to her grave. She never slipped, not even when the pain meds made her confused. What they shared was a rare love.”
Ruth pointed to the photo. “That was the last time it was seen. Within weeks, Heinrich burned the skin with a heated iron. He scarred over the mark so it could never be identified. Your mother held his hand while he did it. They lived in terror that someone would find out he had once worn that uniform. I always thought they must’ve destroyed this photo.”