After my father, an Austrian fighter pilot in the Luftwaffe, was shot down over England, I found a loving home with my grandfather, Api as I affectionately called him. Over 60 years later, I discovered a diary Api had kept in 1945 when he worked as doctor in medical cellars a stone’s throw from the Reichstag. The diary revealed not only the horrors of the fall of Berlin followed by Soviet occupation, but that Api had been a Nazi. This forced me to confront questions of guilt and political responsibility I had evaded all my life.