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Sally went to Paris. Sally went to Paris. Sally went to Paris.

Cliff put his head in his hands. He wanted so badly for that to be the ending, but he sat alone. He couldn't feel her freezing hands on his shoulder. He couldn't taste the mint of toothpaste in his mouth.

Was she even still alive? He'd been following the news so closely, but he didn't want to know. In his mind, Sally could never die.

But then, his mind had also told him at the train station that she would appear any second, wearing her fur coat, the abortion a fever dream, her flighty mind steady, committed to him and their family-to-be. It was the same mind that told him Fräulein Schneider and Herr Shultz were together and safe and happy, her lobby decorated with pineapples and a crystal fruit bowl on their shared end table. It was the mind that told him the Kit Kat Club was still running and intact, the girls and boys better fed, better protected, free, Emcee with a microphone to hold and someone to come home to that would hold him (or maybe two someones). It was the mind that wanted and tried to believe Ernst would see the error of his ways, would sabotage and challenge those who shared his now former world views. It was the mind filled with optimism that battled so strongly with his cynical heart, and lost.

Cliff's pen tapped against the page.

I went to Paris, on my way back to America, he wrote. Sally stayed in Berlin.