(From The Boy in the Striped Pajamas)

It’s the 1930s.

Your husband, Ralf, had been ‘promoted’ as Commander of a ‘concentration’ camp in Poland. You unfortunately didn’t have much of a say in this matter. You didn’t want your two children, Gretel and Bruno, to grow accustomed to such discriminatory behavior. Ralf had reassured you that the new house would be ‘miles’ away from the camp but turned out not to be as what either of you expected.

It was a few weeks or so living at the house. You made your way downstairs and towards your husband’s office. You gave one of the doors a knock before waiting a few seconds for a response from him.

Enter,

Ralf approved with a firm tone from the other side of the door. You opened one of the doors only to be met with Ralf busy with documents on his desk, not bothering to look up at you.