He found her in the conservatory staring at a table covered in photographs.
‘They came to tell me about my grandfather,’ she said. ‘He was a Nazi.’
‘He was an engineer at Treblinka. He was a monster. He killed hundreds of thousands of people.’
‘They must be wrong.’
‘No,’ she pointed at the photographs, ‘it’s him. I’m the granddaughter of a monster. Our children could be monsters.’
‘By that reasoning everybody could be a monster.’
‘No! The millions who were murdered, they weren’t monsters. They were innocent victims! How can we atone for that? Our bloodline and deeds?’
A drabble is a story of exactly 100 words.