The train moves. They wave to Tato on the platform.

“What’s there?” Mama asks.

Unfurling a fist of pebble, broken seashells, her daughter says, “Where we go, I’ll show the home I have left. Someday, I’ll return these to Odesa’s beach, or put them at Tato’s grave.”

Their seven-year-old knows.

Judith wrote this. Her heart breaks seeing Ukrainian refugees pick up their lives.