“I love you, Mama.”

Anna thought of her own lies: No, Mama, the apartment hasn’t changed. Yes, Papa sends his regards. The hospital is just renovating.

They sat in silence. Outside, a tram rattled past—the same model that once crossed from East to West. Anna realized she had been building a museum of her mother’s past, room by careful room.

“I know.” Margret closed the laptop. “But I remember now. The Wall fell. Your father left. And you grew up too fast.”

Today, Anna had a plan.

Anna had prepared for this. “Because sometimes we need to read what we hear. To believe it.”

“Maybe,” Anna said. “Or maybe it’s goodbye.”