My name is Lena. I’m twenty-one, back from Munich for the weekend.Dad is Thomas, forty-six, tall, broad, salt-and-pepper stubble when he forgets to shave, the kind of man who still carries me over puddles even though I’m grown.My little brother is Finn, nineteen, long and lanky, cheeks that still flush at the smallest thing, hair always falling into his eyes.Saturday night at Opa and Oma’s house in the hills. After too much cake and wine, Oma clapped her hands.“Sauna! Naked, the real way. Towels are silly.”Dad laughed, awkward and low. “We’ll keep towels, Mutti.”Finn went scarlet and stared at his plate. I mumbled something about being fine and felt heat crawl up my neck that had nothing to do with the stove.The thought had already rooted itself in all of us.The little cedar hut glowed orange, stones hissing softly. We filed in, door shutting like a seal.Dad sat first on the lower bench, towel knotted low.Finn followed, clutching his towel so hard his knuckles went white, kn
Last Updated : 2025-12-06 Read more