The image has faded over the years. In truth, it was blurry to begin with. Of the many small photos my father took while he was a soldier during World War Two, this one remains my favorite. In its more vivid, sharper days, I could see the girl's features and the steam rising from the cup behind the toast on the table. I have known this nameless girl most of my adult life, but only in the last few years have I thought of her as a child of war, a witness to the most cruel actions of a brutal humanity. Maybe that's why the peacefulness of this everyday moment of morning sunlight and breakfast toast grabs at my heart.