Our house stood at the foot of a hill, and the Germans were positioned on the very top. We were down below. When our soldiers arrived, the fighting began.

One night, a shell hit our house. Everything thundered. We were all on the furnace when the walls crumbled, and the world mixed with stone and smoke. In the chaos, I was separated from my family.

It was pitch black. I wandered through the village all night, searching for them, asking every neighbor I could find. It wasn’t until morning that I found them, hiding beneath a bench in another cottage.

The children were begging for water, but to fetch it meant risking death. One woman ran out. A shot, and she fell. Another woman followed, and she fell too. A third finally returned with half a jug of water for everyone. The memory of their sacrifice never left me.

When we woke the next morning, we saw soldiers resting all around the house. The Germans were gone.