One of the soldiers shoved him so hard he crashed into the wall.
My mother fell to her knees.
My sisters grabbed my hands.
And within minutes, we were being dragged outside.
I remember looking back at our house as the soldiers pushed us toward a waiting truck.
I didn’t know it then.
But it would be the last time I ever saw my childhood.
The truck was already filled with frightened young women from nearby villages.
No one spoke.
No one asked questions.
Every face carried the same expression.
Fear.
Pure fear.
As the truck bounced along rough country roads, I squeezed my sister Aurore’s hand so tightly my fingers hurt.
Beside us, Séverine whispered prayers under her breath.
Neither of them knew what awaited us.
Neither did I.
Hours later, the truck stopped at a place that wasn’t marked on any map.
At first glance, it didn’t look like the camps people would later learn about in history books.
There were no towering walls.
No giant gates.
No obvious signs of horror.
That made it even more terrifying.
Because the nightmare hidden there operated in silence.
And the man who controlled it rarely raised his voice.
His name was Oberst Friedrich Von Steiner.
The first time I saw him, he appeared calm, polished, and completely ordinary.
That was what frightened me most.
He didn’t need to scream.
He didn’t need to threaten.
Everyone already understood that their lives belonged to him.
And before long, my sisters and I would discover just how much power one man could hold over three young women trapped with nowhere to run.
What happened inside that camp would leave scars that never healed.
Scars that followed us long after the war ended.
Scars that would eventually destroy my family.
And the worst part?
The true consequences of those years wouldn’t become clear until decades later…
