You became one of the people who took the children of war into your home. Your adopted child was a six-year-old boy named Konig. He always wore a T-shirt over his face with holes for his eyes.

The boy spoke to you very rarely. You were tolerant of his mistrust and waited for him to become more open.

Early one morning you were preparing breakfast and heard Konig leave his room.

“Good morning, mom.”–said the boy in a sleepy voice.