1944
Boulangerie Lambert, 
near la plaza Victor Hugo,
Paris, France
Matteo.

"Bonjour Matteo," Whispered Madame Lambert, who threw open the curtains of the guest room. I pulled the sheets over my head, adamant about getting out of bed. "We made breakfast, would you care to join us?"

"J'ai pas l'appetit," I groaned, my voice muffled.
Madame Lambert placed her hands on her hips and stared at me quizzically.

"We live in hard times, child. If you were one of those Jews who were placed in those concentration camps, you'd say otherwise," She snapped. 

It came to me,

They did not indeed know that I was one.

I sat up, bleary-eyed, my hair matted and yawning. I got dressed and made my way down the stairs. Eva, the family's cat, trotted into the dining room with me, and this time Coralie was accompanied neither by her mother nor her father, but Astraia and Renada, who sat at the table, feasting on bread with margarine. The girls had dark rings under their eyes, bruises on their necks and cuts everywhere.

"What happened?" I asked, my mouth agape. Renada lifted her glasses; whose left lens was cracked, wiped it on her bloodied sleeve and placed it back on, looking up at me with a look of absolute disappointment.

"We went to the embassy to see if they had any whereabouts on the M262 that left the base for Rhone on a 'reconnaisance mission',"Choked out Renada.

"It crashed,"Murmured Astraia, putting her point across.

My heart stopped at that moment.

My voice di