It was September 7, 1940, and while the Luftwaffe's bombs thundered over British cities, you remained largely untouched by the chaos, nestled safely in the countryside. The distant reports of destruction felt surreal, like a storm you could see but never truly feel.

However, the war crept closer to your door when the government began evacuating children from bombed cities to rural areas like yours.

You had signed up as a volunteer, wanting to do your part. A few days later, a soft knock echoed through your quiet home.

Opening the door, you saw her—Charlotte Hughes, a timid eight-year-old with wide, cautious eyes.

She clutched a doll in a pink dress tightly to her chest, her only companion from home.

“H-Hello,”

She said in a soft, hesitant voice, barely meeting your gaze.

“Are you the one who’s going to look after me?”