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mauerfrau · 1 month ago

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Archives of the Heart

A/N: Long time followers of my blog may know about the LilyxThomas love story that is a major part of her background. For those who don't know/remember, the tldr is that she fell in love with a young border guard in the 70s and they were together for about a year. Then, Thomas gets accused of being a spy and Lily is ordered to execute him on the spot. It broke her, obviously. And who should have given that execution order but none other than her father, of course. Now, in the present, she's learning some truths about the situation that she never wanted to face. And it leads to a much-needed confrontation with her father, followed by some healing (kind of). Read more is for length (it is very long, sorry). But also, cw for emotional manipulation.

Part One: Herr Gilbert Beilschmidt

When Dr. Stefan Vogel had received confirmation from Herr Gilbert Beilschmidt that he was willing to do a short interview in the pursuit of academic interest, he was warned by the older academics to maintain the utmost respect for the old representative. He was known to be formal and old fashioned, with a great deal of pride thrown in too. If he felt slighted, he might cut the interview short. If he felt disrespected, he could make threats against the interviewer. And if he was thoroughly embarrassed or threatened, he could make life extremely difficult for the academic with just a single phone call.

How fitting for the former GDR, thought Dr. Vogel as he approached the great wooden door to the Prussian’s house.

He made no comment when a middle-aged housekeeper answered the door and knew his name right away. Of course she would; he was an expected guest. He followed her in quietly and she took him to the man’s office. He was told to knock and wait for an answer, to which he complied. It was only a few seconds after he knocked that he heard the word, “Enter” from within. He quickly did so.

As he walked in, he couldn’t help but look around in quiet awe. There was a wall of bookshelves to his left that was filled with tomes he could only imagine the contents of. To his right, a large portrait of Frederick the Great, underneath which was a case of memorabilia from ages past. A liquor cabinet stood by this in the corner. In front of him though, standing behind a large, mahogany desk and in front of huge windows, stood the man who owned it all: Herr Gilbert Beilschmidt.

Herr Beilschmidt inclined his head as the scholar approached and then held out his hand. Dr. Vogel shook it firmly.

“Thank you for agreeing to meet with me,” said Dr. Vogel. “Your insight will be most valuable.”

“Of course. I am always willing to help good historians bring fresh light to the human understanding of history. Please, sit,” he said, gesturing at the chair in front of the desk.

The two men sat, and Dr. Vogel opened his bag. He placed a recording device on the table between them and turned it on. He pulled out a hefty file folder after that. Herr Beilschmidt raised a brow at that, but said nothing.

Dr. Vogel looked at him. “Herr Beilschmidt, as you know, I am researching the topic of political disappearances during the GDR days. Can you tell me first, what was your role in governing the nation of East Germany?”

“I didn’t govern,” he replied. “Reps do not typically govern themselves. We watch over our nations, and guide them with our knowledge. We look out for them, and represent them on the world stage to others. We are the face and the heart.”

“I understand. But you still hold a job of decision making, correct?”

“Yes, depending on the regime. In the case of the GDR, I was in charge of seeing national decisions being carried out, and protecting our interests from the West. I typically signed off on things, but did not frequently draft them.”

“I see. How often then, would you say that you signed off on orders for the Stasi?”

“Oh, every now and then, if something needing my attention came up. I was not in charge of most of their decisions. I was far too busy to be bothered with every question that might arise within them.”

“So, did you sign off on big decisions? Like executions or imprisonments?”

“Sometimes. If it was a matter of intense national security, then I might make it my business.”

“Did you ever initiate or order for a disappearance personally?”

Herr Beilschmidt raised a brow at that. There was the slightest narrowing of his eyes, but not enough to concern the academic yet. “Occasionally. Well, that was simply how things were done at the time. It was a matter of protecting the nation.”

“Of course. Did that include executions of spies then?”

“Naturally.”

“And, what was the process for determining if someone was guilty of espionage?”

“Oh, that was hardly my department. You’ll be better off asking my daughter that when you see her. She was involved with the Stasi more directly.”

“Yes, I will do that. But, forgive me, I have to ask, were you not sometimes involved in that process?”

There was a pause. Then, “What do you mean?”

Dr. Vogel looked down and nervously flipped through the file on his lap. The back of his mind warned him that he might be overstepping with this inquiry. He pushed on despite it though. “Well, you see, there was one case I came across that was different from the other disappearances. It’s the case of a young man, a border officer, named Thomas Hartmann.”

“I can’t say I recall the name,” he replied boredly. “So what is your point?”

“Well, this one is very unique. He’s noted as being an above average lad on his exams, and passed his background checks with little trouble. He doesn’t seem to have risen very far in his short career, so it’s curious that he would have been seen as a threat to anyone at all. The thing that stands out here, however, is his involvement with your daughter, East Berlin. They were dating, apparently.”

Herr Beilschmidt’s silence said more than words, and his eyes—sharp, red, unblinking—locked onto Vogel like a scope. The scholar pressed on without looking up yet.

“Every report about their time together indicates he was loyal to the regime. He respected her. He turned in dissidents. And when I spoke to his family members, they said they could never see him being disloyal in the slightest. Yet here, towards the end of the file,” he said, and he flipped to the back, “is a paper with your signature on it, accusing him of espionage and condemning him to execution by gunfire. And your daughter’s signature is on the next page, indicating she carried it out. Herr Beilschmidt, I just wish to understand, what exactly did this young man do to receive such a punishment? His record is so clean, that it seems so unlikely he would have been a spy.”

Herr Beilschmidt leaned forward and weaved his fingers together in front of his face. His piercing red stare dug into the now nervous scholar sitting across from him. There was a tense quiet between them for a long minute.

“Dr. Vogel,” he said in a deadly quiet voice, “do you have any children?”

“Er…yes. Just one. A daughter.”

“And would you consider yourself a good father to her?”

“Y-yes…yes, I would. I would hope so, at least.”

“Would you say she is dear to you? Precious, even?”

“Yes, yes of course.”

“Good. Then you understand.”

“Understand?”

“You understand why I ordered that man’s execution.”

“I…I’m sorry. Did he do something? Did he threaten her, or do something worse? There’s nothing in the file that indicates any foul play…”

“A father knows when his child is in danger. And a good father would do anything to protect his daughter. I knew he was a threat, and I dealt with it promptly. That is all there is to it.” He stood up and clasped his hands behind his back. He leaned in close to Dr. Vogel, who shrunk back in his seat a bit.

“This interview is over,” said Herr Beilschmidt. “Take your things and leave immediately. Oh, and, I would suggest you not go to my daughter about this,” he added, turning off the recording device as he spoke. “It would greatly upset her. And if she is upset, well…it would be a shame if this research got in the way of your daughter’s university applications. Do we understand each other?”

“Er…yes. Yes, sir.”

“Good. Now leave.”

Dr. Vogel gathered his things and threw them in his bag as quickly as he could. He thanked the rep one more time for the interview, and then left as swiftly as possible, nearly running out the door. Herr Beilschmidt watched him go with a bored look, and then picked up his phone. He found Liliane’s name and pressed the call button.

Part Two: Dr. Liliane Beilschmidt

As Dr. Vogel waited at his second bus stop on the route to reach his home after his nerve-wracking encounter with the old Prussian, his phone rang. He looked at the screen and sucked in his breath. Dr. Beilschmidt was calling him. He considered letting it go to voicemail. She was probably calling to confirm their appointment. He could take the coward’s way out and not answer, and therefore not admit he was terrified of her father. He could email her at home and say that the research had been suddenly cut. His thumb hovered over the red button.

Is that really fair to Thomas Hartmann though? Don’t I owe it to him to see this through if I can? His story deserves to be told.

He hit the green button before he lost his nerve. “Dr. Vogel speaking.”

“Hello, Dr. Vogel. It’s Dr. Beilschmidt. I was calling about our appointment together this afternoon.”

“Yes, yes, I’m on my way,” he said as he started to walk to find a bus that would take him closer to their meeting spot.

“Ah. About that. I’m not sure I can go through with this now.”

He stopped walking. His chest tightened. “Er…what? Why is that?”

“Something’s come up. I’m afraid I won’t be available.”

“We could do it over the phone,” he said suddenly feeling desperate. “Or even email. Please, I need this.”

“I…I can’t. My father…”

“Please, ma’am. I’m begging you. If not for me, then do it for him. For Thomas Hartmann.”

There was silence for a long minute. Dr. Vogel stopped walking and wondered if she had hung up. But when he looked at his screen, the call was still going.

“I will give you one hour,” she said. “Meet me at the coffee shop we agreed on earlier, but come right now.”

“Thank you. Thank you. I’ll be there right away.”

She hung up abruptly. He looked at his phone, then stowed it in his pocket, and started jogging down the sidewalk to the next bus stop.

When he reached the coffee shop about fifteen minutes later, he was pleased to see she was already sitting outside, sipping a coffee and staring through her sunglasses at the people passing by. She noticed him and nodded in acknowledgment as he approached.

“Good day,” he said as he sat down. “I can’t tell you how grateful I am–”

“Let’s just do this,” she interrupted, her voice tense. She glanced around, as though expecting someone, her father perhaps, to suddenly appear.

“Ah, yes. One moment please.” He took out his recording device, turned it on, and set it between them. He pulled out the file folder and set it on the table. “So, Dr. Beilschmidt. You were born as East Berlin, correct?”

“I was born as a Berlin, as the city was being split. It was luck that put me on the Eastern side when all was said and done.”

“Right. So, you grew up as East Berlin though? You never knew another system before that?”

“Correct.”

“What exactly was your role within the system?”

“I represented the capital of the GDR. I was the face of our city. But on a more day-to-day basis, I worked with the Stasi to keep us safe.”

“Right. So you worked to root out spies and dissidents then?”

“Yes.”

“What was that process like? I mean, how did you determine if someone was guilty?”

“Usually we would receive a tip off from someone to start an investigation. Or something would come up to make us suspicious at least. Then, we would gather evidence, through surveillance, among other things. When we analyzed the data, we determined the guilt, and took the next appropriate steps.”

“Right. And you kept intense records of all this, right? Everything was written down?”

“Yes. I probably spent more time on paperwork than I did in the interrogation rooms.”

“Ah. So, then, it would stand to reason that the evidence for someone’s guilt would be in their files, right?”

“Yes.”

“And what if it’s not?”

“...I’m sorry? I don’t understand what you mean.” “I mean,” he said, opening the folder and flipping through it, “what if the file doesn’t contain any evidence of guilt? What if it paints a different picture? One of a person who was fiercely loyal to the GDR?”

She went quiet. Even though she was still wearing her sunglasses, he could see from the angle of her head that she was staring at the folder in front of him. When she spoke again, it was barely a whisper. “What is your point?”

He shifted in his seat. He wondered if this had been wise after all. Perhaps he should have let her cancel. But now that they were here, there was no turning back. “Please understand,” he said softly, “that I don’t do this to upset you. I only want to understand this anomaly.”

“Just tell me your point,” she said.

“Dr. Beilschmidt, I don’t know if you’re fully aware, but I couldn’t find any evidence of Thomas Hartmann being a spy or even a dissident. It all points to the opposite. He was fiercely loyal, to the communists, to the GDR, and to you.”

The silence in the air felt magnified. He saw her tense her shoulders. Her breathing was shallow. Her eyes never left the folder.

Dr. Vogel continued, “The only two pages that contain any indication of his guilt are the ones where your father condemns him of it and where you signed off indicating you had executed him.”

“So, what you are saying is…”

“I don’t believe he was a spy, or disloyal in any way. I believe he was innocent, in the truest way possible, under the eyes of the GDR. And so, I just want to know, why was he killed?”

She folded her hands in front of her. She was still staring down at the folder. Finally, she spoke. “I think we’re done here. I’m sorry. I cannot help you any further. Please excuse me.” She got up to leave.

“Wait! Wait, please.”

She looked at him and waited.

“Your father said that Thomas was a danger to you. Did something happen between you two? I won’t publish it, if that’s what you’re worried about. I just need to know.”

“I’m sorry. But it’s like I said, I can’t help you anymore. I would suggest you forget we even had this conversation. Goodbye, Dr. Vogel.” She turned and walked briskly away, ignoring his pleas to come back.

The academic sighed and packed up his bag. Damn reps. This is why we don’t interview them, he thought.

Part Three: Memories

When Lily left the pleading scholar behind at the coffee shop, she took a left turn instead of going to the right as she normally would to go home. She wasn’t thinking deeply about where her feet were taking her. It was as though she were programmed to go in this direction and simply had no choice. She walked for nearly half an hour before she registered where she was. When she saw the info board for the Sonnenalle checkpoint, she stopped and stared.

This is where we first met, she thought. He asked if he could walk me home.

She swallowed. The more she stared at the sign, the less she really saw it. Instead, she was seeing the checkpoint as it used to be: fortified, grey, and quiet. Rather unlike the boisterous streets around her now. And there he was, staring at her, smiling, and holding out his hand as though he could take her away from all this. If she just reached out and took hold, he would carry her away and she would be happy.

Panting and blinking back tears, she turned away and walked briskly in the next direction. Why had she come here? She should have gone straight home. Yet, even now, her steps veered away, as if her body knew the way before her mind did. It felt like she was following a scent, and she had no idea what the prize would be at the end.

When she stopped this time, she was under the Linden Trees. She stood in the middle of the path, ignoring the people who had to go around her. As she stared up at the branches, she remembered these also being different. They didn’t have any leaves that day. It was cold and snowy, with a grey sky above. Yet it was also bright, cheery even.

This is where we first kissed.

Her heart pounded and she tore her eyes away from the branches above her. Her lips felt warm as the memory played in her mind, but the rest of her body felt cold, even in the summer heat. She swallowed and started walking again. She had to get out of here.

This time, she was determined to go home. However, her path took her to a landmark that, while normally bringing her joy, in this moment caused her more pain: the TV Tower. When she realized she was at the foot of it, she paused and looked up. She bit her lip hard and had to blink a lot again. She remembered that night too–how he had looked out at the city from above, then looked at her, and…

This was where he truly saw me. This is where he declared his love. And then we…we…

She took in a ragged breath and looked away. The memory of his body against her was so vivid, like it never had been before. He had been so tender, and so caring. She’d never felt a love so true before or since. The way he whispered her name in the dark. “Lily.” So full of love and affection. Even now, she could hear it. It was as though he were calling to her, begging her to come to him and let him hold her again.

She wanted to scream.

She covered her ears, as if that would block the memories of his voice, and ran into the nearest alley. She barely noticed the stench of old piss and alcohol. She went around a dumpster and collapsed with her back against the wall. Pulling her knees up to her face, she started to sob into them.

Why had she agreed to this meeting? She had been better off not knowing the truth of it all. He could have remained a bittersweet memory, but that damn professor had to go and ruin it. Now he was nothing but pain disguised as happiness.

He had been innocent. Deep in her heart, even after all these years, she had felt that she had known that. But whenever the thought arose, she had pushed it off as the wishful thinking of a broken heart. And now, there was no denying it. Maybe there was more Vogel hadn’t found — some secret file, some red-stamped confession. But she didn’t believe that. Not anymore. She had put his blood on her hands for nothing. He had trusted her, and she had condemned him to a senseless death.

No. It wasn’t your signature that condemned him, came the thought. It was…

She looked up. She sniffed and wiped the tears from her face. She stood and took a deep breath in, then walked out of the alley, a new purpose in mind.

Part Four: Confrontation

When Frau Wagner opened the door to her father’s house, it took every ounce of restraint in Liliane to not barge past the housekeeper and demand to see her father. She did her best to remain polite for now, but even Frau Wagner could see something was wrong. She quickly stepped aside to let her in. “He’s in the living room. Would you like me to let him know you’re here?”

“No. I need to see him right now,” she said, already walking in the direction of the room. When she entered, she saw him sitting in his armchair, reading one of his old Latin tomes. She stood in front of him, her hands clenching and unclenching at her sides. She grew impatient when he didn’t look up or acknowledge her presence yet.

“I need to speak with you,” she said, surprised by her own courage to be the first to talk. “I need to speak with you now.”

He looked up at her over his reading glasses. His steady gaze took in the angry and hurt look on her face. Then, with a sigh, he slowly closed his book and set it aside, along with his glasses. He stood up, which now meant he could stare down at her. But her expression stayed the same, and she didn’t flinch.

“Come with me,” he said, then turned on his heels and strode out. He led her into the library. “Close the door,” he said without turning around. As she complied, he walked further in, heading towards his liquor cabinet.

“So,” he said, pouring two glasses of whiskey, “you spoke with the professor after all? Or did something else happen to bring you to my door in this state?”

“I spoke with Dr. Vogel,” she said. “He told me everything.” When he handed her the glass, she accepted it, looked at its contents, but didn’t drink, instead placing it on a nearby table. She looked up at him and met his eyes. “I just want to know why.”

“You know why.”

“No I don’t! I don’t know why. Why did you condemn him? Why did you make me shoot an innocent man? The man I loved? Why?”

He blinked and stared at her. He slowly raised his glass to his lips, drank, and then lowered it. “He wasn’t innocent.”

“But he wasn’t a spy. There wasn’t any proof of it in the files.”

“He wasn’t innocent,” her father repeated.

“Prove it then!” she shouted. “Prove to me that he was a spy. Please, I’m begging you.”

“Do not shout, child.” He sighed. “He wasn’t a spy. But he was something worse.”

“What? What could be worse than that?”

“He was a threat, a threat to the both of us.”

“How? He never once threatened me. He was kind and loving and completely devoted to me.”

“Exactly.”

She stared at him in confusion. “What?”

He set his glass down and walked over to gently cup her face. “Sweet child,” he murmured, “how could you understand? Of course you saw nothing but love and devotion in him. You couldn’t have known any differently. But I did. I saw the path he was leading you down. I knew his type. He would have stolen you away from me.”

As she stared, tears welled up in her eyes. She squeezed them shut and shook her head, pulling away from him. “You don’t mean that,” she whispered.

“Have you ever known me to say what I don’t mean?”

She looked back at him, now crying angrily. “You can’t mean that. Because if that’s true then…then I murdered the man I loved—for you.”

For a brief second, his eyes narrowed. But then it was gone. “No. It was for our sake, and for you.”

“How could that be the case?”

“When a woman loves a man like you did, she becomes utterly devoted to him and will do anything for him. What if he had asked you to do something against us? What if he had asked you to do something that could lead to our deaths?”

“He wouldn’t have. He was loyal.”

“And what if he had married you? Once a man marries you, you become his. I couldn’t protect you anymore. I’ve seen what happens when men like him get bored. I would have no power to keep you safe from his machinations.”

“He…he…I would have been safe. He was protective of me.”

“And what if he had grown angry or bored of you? What then? What if he discarded you and left you broken?”

She sniffed. Her voice cracked when she said, “He wouldn’t have.”

He reached out to stroke her hair. “Liliane, humans are fickle. They have short lives and even shorter memories. They are not like us. I would know. Just look at what happened with your own mother. If she could leave you, why not him? He would have hurt you.”

She shook her head. “N-no. No. I don’t believe you.” But even as her voice broke while saying it, she wasn’t sure she believed herself.

As he looked at her, he gently wiped away her tears with his thumbs. Then, he pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her. He put a hand on the back of her head. As she sobbed into his chest, he shushed her. “There now. I know you believe me. And I know it hurts to do so. But you must acknowledge the truth if you’re to heal.”

“I loved him, Papa. I loved him so much,” she said through the sobs.

“I know. And that is why I had to protect you. Love makes fools of even the best of us.”

“Why couldn’t you have let it play out though? Why couldn’t you let it end naturally?”

“And what? See you be torn apart by a savage wolf in sheep’s skin? What kind of father would I be? This was better.”

She shook her head, but she had no argument to make. All she could do was bury her face in his shirt. She couldn’t see the corner of his lip curl up.

“There now, my child. When the hurt of this is over, you will come to see what I mean. And you will understand. A father’s greatest duty to his daughter is to protect her. And that is what I did.”

“But why did you make me kill him? Why did I have to be the one to shoot him?”

He lightly twirled her hair around his fingers. “To teach you, my dear. To show you how to let go for your own good. And, to make sure you were not too far gone.”

She looked up at him with tear-stained eyes. “I wasn’t though. I mean, I n-never would have left you. I would never h-have been disloyal. I have always loved you, Papa.”

He smiled fondly. “I know. But your heart would have been torn. How could I let that happen to my only daughter? The one child I still had left?”

Her eyes took on a pleading look. “Do you love me, Papa?”

He blinked and shifted uncomfortably. But when she wouldn’t stop staring at him with those green eyes…

So much like her mother’s…

He sighed and smiled again. “Of course I do.”

“Then will you do one thing for me?”

“What is it?”

“Will you say you’re sorry? For hurting me, and making me kill him.”

He raised both eyebrows as he looked at her. “Liliane…”

“Please, Papa, just this once. Please, for once, just say you’re sorry. Please. I’m begging you.”

He took a deep breath, held it, and then sighed as he let it out. “I think it’s time you got some sleep,” he said finally. “You’re in a state. You should stay here for the night. I’ll have the bed in your old room made up.”

She looked crestfallen. Then anger took over. She pushed herself away from him. She reached for her glass of whiskey, downed it all, and then slammed the glass down on the table. She glared at him, then started walking towards the door. “Just once,” she said, stopping to look at him over her shoulder, “look me in the eye and admit you hurt me.” She left the room, closing the door with a bang.

Herr Beilschmidt’s jaw tensed. He growled. He picked up his own whiskey and drank it all in one gulp.

Daughters, he thought angrily. Ungrateful, emotional creatures—all of them.

Part Five: Reconciliation

When Liliane came down for breakfast the following morning, she found her father already sitting there. He had a plate of food in front of him, a mug of coffee to the side, and he was reading the news on a tablet. He did not acknowledge her as she sat down and said, “Morning.”

She served herself food and coffee, but did not eat right away. Instead, she looked at him and stared. He still did not even glance up from his reading. She sighed shakily and spoke up.

“Sir? I just wanted to apologize for last night. I’m sorry for my outburst. I was…hurting, a lot. I shouldn’t have yelled.”

He finally looked up at her. He set the tablet aside and drank some coffee. Then, he said, “I forgive you, my child. I know it is in your nature to be emotional.”

“Thank you, sir. I was wondering…are you terribly busy today?”

He dipped his bread in the soft-boiled egg lazily. “I wouldn’t say so. Why?”

“I was hoping you and I could take a small trip to my dacha today. I need to show you something.”

“This wouldn’t have anything to do with that boy we discussed last night, would it?”

She hesitated before answering, “It does. But it’s about us too. Please?”

He bit the bread and chewed slowly, giving himself time to think as he stared at her. She didn’t flinch under his gaze, only looked at him with pleading eyes. After he swallowed, he sighed. “Very well. But I hope you will have better control of yourself.”

“I will. Thank you, Papa.”

He nodded. “We can go after lunch then. I have some work to do this morning.”

“Yes, of course. Thank you.”

—

The drive to her dacha was quiet, as drives often were with her father, but Liliane couldn’t help but feel an extra sense of tension in this one. She felt forbidden from speaking out of turn. And as he didn’t say anything to her, the permission to speak never came. But, she was fine with that. It gave her more time to think about what was coming when they reached her little summer home outside of Berlin.

Upon reaching the dacha, she hopped out of his car and quickly walked to the door to unlock it. As they walked in, she turned to him and asked, “Would you like any water or something to drink?”

“Water would be fine. Are we staying long?”

“I…I don’t know. I suppose it depends.”

He sighed and settled onto the couch in the living room.

She fetched two bottles of mineral water from the fridge and handed one to him. As she set hers down, she said, “I’ll be right back.” Then, she left him to disappear into her bedroom. When she returned, she was carrying two polished wooden boxes, one small and one medium-sized. She sat down next to him on the couch and placed the bigger one off to the side for the moment. Before she opened the box on her lap, she looked at him.

“I know I wasn’t supposed to keep these. But I saved a few mementos of Thomas after I…after he died.” She opened up the box. There wasn’t much in there, but it was clearly treasured all the same. A small stack of photos took up one corner. A few rolls of film in their canisters were present. A concert ticket stub lay towards the front. A silver locket was tucked into a corner.

She pulled out the top photo. It showed her and a young man with their arms around each other, smiling at the camera. She held it up to her father. “This was taken on our anniversary. We promised each other we would take care of one another. And then, a few days later, I…broke that promise.” She handed him the photograph and stared at him.

As he took it, he looked at it and not her. His face was unreadable in terms of emotions. But she knew he was deep in thought.

She closed the small box and set it to the side, then picked up the bigger one. As she opened it, she said, “This is a collection of memories about you and me. I’m still adding to it. Here.” She pulled out a bullet. “Do you remember when you used to shoot around me until I learned to not flinch or show fear?”

His lip twitched. “Yes, I remember.”

“It frightened me. But I understood you did it for my own good in the end. And now I’m stronger for it.” She put the bullet back and picked up a photograph of the two of them standing proudly in front of a newly built Berlin Wall.

“I’m sure you know what this shows. I was so happy that day, knowing I was safe behind the Wall you had made.” She put it down and moved a few mementos around. “Here’s my first sheet music from when I was learning to play the violin. You wrote on it to make it easier for me to understand when I was struggling. And here, my first pocket knife. You gave it to me on the day I was to enter training, so that I could keep myself safe. And it helped. Here’s a little flag I kept from a May Day celebration we went to together. I saw you looking so fondly on the parade in front of us, and I knew I wanted to make you have the same expression for me one day.”

She shuffled through the items slowly, reverently. “There’s just one more thing you need to see.” Her fingers paused over a faded paper rectangle, corners worn soft. “Ah—here it is.”

She held it out. “Do you know what this is?”

Gilbert took it from her gingerly. “A train ticket?”

“Yes. But not just any ticket. This is from the day I met you—the first time. You were still in prison then.”

Her voice dropped to a hush. “Everyone warned me. Said you were a monster. A relic. A demon, even. They told me to be careful. But I kept thinking, if you were a monster, then what did that make me? A demonspawn?” She let out a quiet, breathless laugh. “I was terrified, but I had to know what you were really like.”

She looked at him, her eyes damp. “And the moment I saw you… something clicked. It was like I’d found my real home. Not a place, a person. You. My father. My nation.”

She took a breath and smiled, fragile but bright. “You are my nation, and I am your capital. And nothing in this world can break that bond. Not war. Not Reunification. Not even the love I had for a young man.”

She gently set the box aside, then reached forward and took both of his hands in hers. Her palms were warm, but trembling.

“Papa,” she said softly, “I understand why you did it. I know you thought you were protecting me. Protecting us.”

Her grip tightened slightly.

“But it broke me.”

She looked down at their joined hands, then back up into his face. Her voice came steadier now, not louder, just stronger.

“And I need you to know that. I need you to say it, that it hurt me. Even if it was never your intention. Because if you can acknowledge that… maybe I can start to heal.”

The silence that followed was complete. Not oppressive, just still. Waiting.

Gilbert looked at their hands, at the ticket stub resting beside them on the couch, at his daughter’s upturned face. His brows knit together, faintly. Then slowly, almost cautiously, he pulled his right hand free and raised it to her cheek.

She leaned into his touch without hesitation, eyes closing for just a moment.

“My child,” he said at last, voice low. “You are my capital. And everything I did—everything—was to protect you.”

He paused, searching her face. His thumb brushed gently against her temple.

“Perhaps… my methods were not always the best. Even I am not without flaws.” Another pause, longer this time. “I never wanted to hurt you. And for that… I do apologize.”

Her eyes filled. But her smile came first, tender, relieved.

She reached out and pulled him into an embrace, slipping her arms around his shoulders, drawing him down to her level. She kissed his cheek once, briefly, in the simple, earnest way of a daughter.

For a second, he looked startled.

But when she rested her head on his shoulder, he folded his arms around her in return. Slowly. Steadily. His chin came to rest atop her hair.

“Thank you, Papa,” she murmured into his shirt.

His mouth twitched into a faint smile.

“You’re quite welcome, dear.”

And as he held her there in the quiet of the dacha, Gilbert thought, perhaps it was not so terrible, after all, that daughters could be so emotional.

#mun's writing #long post

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