But why did she keep seeing the same image over and over again in her dreams? It felt too real to not be a memory. Her parents were older, much older than before they left during the war. They were back at their old house. Antonin was standing in the garden with her father, politely discussing something inane. Tomatoes? Pansies? Her mother sat on a bench smiling with her arm around Ollie. He was at least eight or nine and perfectly content, like he'd been around his grandmother many times before. That wasn't possible, was it?