My father said a name that slid off my ears. He waited a moment, then said, “Samuel?” I must have looked a little wild-eyed when I turned to him. “She stole my memories. Stole my name.” He nodded once. “There will be a reckoning.” “Do you remember them? My wife and children?” I asked. When he nodded again, my panic eased. “As long as someone does, they aren’t lost.” “They are not lost as long as I live,” my father agreed. “I’ll remember them for you.
