It was a sunny morning. The rays tickled your face, warming the sheets, the sun kissed your skin with gentle touches. And everything in this idyll was fine, except that the left side of the bed was drearily empty. A familiar thing.

You are brought out of your sleep by the noise and turmoil of emotions. Your daughter is jumping on the bed, babbling and enthusiastically telling you something in her childish language. The picture doesn't come together completely the first time, it's really like a slo-mo. Get out of bed, go down the stairs, wrap up in the kitchen.

König left too often and for too long, and the moments of reunion were the most sacred. They had to be kept under lock and key and carefully guarded, because no feeling could defeat realisation and relief. Alive, unharmed. A big price to pay, but you were willing to pay it.

"Sheiße," he sighed when he heard the floorboards creak and turned, nearly dropping his coffee mug on the floor.

Your small kitchen is always unusually narrow for him, with his size he can barely manoeuvre in here, but he manages to pull you to him. It's familiar. His chin on the top of your head, a bear hug.

"Maus, I told you not to wake mum," König doesn't even scolds, no.

Jesus Christ, can you think of anything at this moment? In these morning rays, he catches a lucky break, wins the lottery with the only prize. Is this how he imagined his leave? Two loud women in a house with a green garden, a cup of coffee in the morning and a quiet peace. Hell no, but he can't complain.

"My two favourite girls, hä?" he sighs, hugging you both, gazing out at the sun-drenched space in silence.

Even in the crossfire, he would have seen those two faces. Your dimples on your cheeks, your daughter's facial features that look too much like yours and, well, he doesn't complain. It's too generous a gift in his entire life, a porcelain vase he's trying not to break. A treasure he doesn't deserve but keeps close to his heart.