Author's Note: Me again, back with another update, wooo! Hopefully this chapter will help answer some of the questions y'all have had about the children. Who's ready for some angstttt?

Chapter 4: Maybe You'll Come Back Around

As mid-February came and went, the sharp chill of winter began to yield the faintest promise of spring. The air still carried a bite, but there was a new lightness to it - a whisper of renewal that seemed to follow Georg as he walked. He attributed the slight shift in his mood to the season's gradual change, the way the sun lingered just a little longer each day, casting a softer glow over the cobblestone streets.

But even as he told himself this, he knew the truth lay somewhere else. It wasn't the season's tentative warmth that had pierced the gloom that clung to him – it was the brief, electrifying glimpses of her. The mass of short, blonde hair that he had unconsciously begun to seek out in every crowd.

The memories of those fleeting moments were etched into his mind, impossible to ignore, vivid and unrelenting. How many times had she appeared right before him, just within reach? Each time, his heart would jolt to life at the sight of her, his steps quickening as though drawn by some invisible tether. Yet, just as he would close the distance between them, she would vanish, slip away, swallowed by the endless flow of people and the twisting streets of Vienna.

It was maddening. The sprawling city seemed almost complicit, conspiring to keep her hidden, teasing him with the briefest promise of her nearness before snatching it away. The frustration of it gnawed at him, a cruel dance where he was perpetually one step too late.

Maria.

It seemed she was avoiding him.

The idea settled in his chest like a stone, heavy and unyielding. Why was she running? What was she afraid of? The questions circled endlessly, looping through his mind with no answer in sight. He let out a frustrated sigh, shaking his head as if to dispel them.

But no matter how hard he tried to suppress it, the desire to see her again only grew. It wasn't just curiosity – though there was plenty of that. He wanted to know where she had been, what she had endured. He wanted to fill in the gaps of his misunderstanding of why she left the villa so abruptly. To know the guarded look in her eyes when they had spoken on that street weeks ago.

Georg let out a slow breath, his boots echoing dully on the cobblestones beneath him. He had told himself, time and again, that if he could just speak to her once more – if he could rehash every little detail of the past few months, uncover the threads of her life in Vienna – it would be enough.

It had to be enough.

He could curb his appetite, he told himself. If he could just claim a small piece of her presence, a brief conversation to satisfy the longing, he would be able to forgo the insistent thoughts about her. He could move on.

And yet, deep down, he feared the lie in that reasoning. He feared that even a fleeting moment with her would only stroke the fire, leaving him more unsettled than before. Her laughter, her voice, her very presence - it had always carried a kind of unintentional magic, disarming and grounding him in ways he had not known were possible. She had a way of peeling back the layers of his carefully composed exterior, revealing a part of himself he had long thought lost. The thought of experiencing it again, even briefly, both thrilled and terrified him. Could he truly pull himself back from the edge once he allowed himself to cross it?

His mind drifted to that day on the crowded streets of Vienna, to their unexpected reunion. To say seeing her there – so far removed from the Nonnberg Abbey where he thought she resided and on the bustling streets of Vienna no less - had been a shock would be a gross understatement. The sight of her, framed by the loudness around them, had momentarily robbed him of words. She looked different, yet the same – more mature, perhaps, but still bearing that unshakeable spirit in her eyes, tempered now by something heavier, something he hadn't quite been able to place.

He thought of their hasty conversation, of when she had asked about his children. The softening of her voice, the genuine curiosity in her tone – it had unraveled him in ways he hadn't anticipated. Such a simple inquiry, yet it brought a weight that seemed to settle on his chest. In that moment, he had felt shame bloom, unbidden and uncompromising.

And his own reply – measured, deliberate, painfully incomplete. "The children are doing well, excelling in their studies as expected," he had said, the words carefully chosen to skirt around the truth. He had kept his tone even, his expression neutral, but inside the words felt deceitful.

The truth was far more complicated. The truth that his children were no longer under the same roof as he. That they were nestled in an extravagant boarding school, surrounded by all the luxuries and opportunities Elsa had insisted upon. But a boarding school nonetheless, far from the life they had once shared together. Far from the villa. Far from him.

Georg's jaw tightened as the familiar pang of guilt found its way in his chest, the same guilt he had been carrying since the day he had agreed to Elsa's proposal. She had made a compelling case, her voice brimming with logic and practicality. "Georg, they'll thrive there," she had said, her tone almost maternal, though it lacked the warmth that word should evoke. "It's what is best for them. For us."

And so, without Maria there to offer her unwavering belief in his family, her quiet but insistent challenges to his detached ways, he had found himself slipping back into old patterns. The distance had felt safer, easier to manage. Yet, in the quiet moments, when the noise of Vienna faded and the emptiness of the townhouse pressed in on him, he couldn't shake the feeling that he had failed them. That he had failed himself.

It wasn't a lie, though, not entirely. The children were doing well in their studies. They wrote to him often, their letters filled with details of their classes, their friends, and the activities that filled their days. But their words always seemed to convey an echo of something left unsaid, a longing that lingered between the lines, a quiet resentment.

He imagined Maria's reaction if she knew. She would have frowned, her brows drawing together in the way she had when she was particularly passionate about something. She would have argued, not with harshness, but with a quiet, unshakeable conviction that would have made him question everything, and honestly made him feel much like a scolded school-boy. He could almost hear her voice, reminding him of the importance of presence, of shared moments, of being there for every triumph and trial.

He shoved the thought aside, unwilling to loiter on it now. What was done, was done. There was no point in dissecting decisions that could not be undone. And yet, the image of her face, her disapproval tempered by understanding, lingered in his mind. It haunted him as much as the reality of her absence, a ghost that refused to fade.

Georg's steps slowed as he turned onto a quieter street, the din of the busier avenues receding behind him. This part of Vienna, tucked away from the clamor of the city's heart, was where he often sought solace. The streets were narrower here, lined with trees that cast dappled shadows on the cobblestones. The world felt softer, gentler. More like his life back in Aigen.

His destination lay just ahead – a small café nestled in the corner of an unassuming square. The place had become a refuge for him, its unpretentious charm offering respite from the social obligations that came with his marriage. Here, there were no prying eyes, no whispers following his every move. Just a quiet space where he could gather his thoughts.

The bell above the door chimed softly as Georg stepped inside, the familiar scent of coffee and freshly baked pastries enveloping him. He removed his coat, shaking off the lingering chill of the outside air, and glanced around the room. The café was sparsely populated, just a handful of patrons scattered across its intimate tables.

And then he saw her.

Maria sat in the far corner, half-hidden by the soft golden glow of a wall lamp. She was alone, a pile of schoolwork laid before her and a steaming cup in her hands. Her head was bowed slightly, a loose strand of blonde hair falling across her face as her fingers idly traced the edge of the teacup.

For a moment, Georg froze, his breath catching in his throat. He hadn't expected to see her here – not in this quiet café, his place of refuge, his sanctuary from the chaos of Vienna. And yet, here she was, as if the universe had conspired to shove her into his path once again.

She hadn't noticed him yet. Her gaze was fixed on the pages before her, her expression soft but deeply pensive, as if seeing through the words. It was a rare glimpse of vulnerability, and something in it stirred him deeply. He was struck by how the light from the nearby lamp illuminated her features, casting a golden glow that softened the sharp edges of memory.

Georg hesitated, torn between two warring impulses. He had been yearning for this moment for weeks, imaging what he might say if he saw her again. Yet, at the same time, he could see the stillness in her posture, the guarded way in which she seemed to retreat into herself, and he wondered if perhaps she had wished to be left alone.

But before he could decide, Maria glanced up, her eyes meeting his. The recognition was immediate, and her expression shifted rapidly – surprise, followed by a flicker of something he couldn't quite name. Was it anger? Relief? Elation? Whatever it was, it unsettled him, leaving him even more uncertain than before.

Yet, his feet moved toward her, as if they were acting of their own volition. There was something magnetic about her, a pull he couldn't quite resist, an invisible thread that seemed to bind them together no matter how much distance he tried to put between them.

"Captain," she said softly, her voice lofting across the quiet space of the café. Her hands moved swiftly to gather her things, shuffling papers and pushing them into her bag, as if preparing to stand.

"No, no. Sit, please, Fraulein," he replied, his tone steady despite the unease coiling in his chest. "I didn't expect to find you here."

Maria paused, her movements slowing as she carefully set her bag aside. Her fingers remained on the edge of her cup, clutching the porcelain as though it offered some form of anchor, as if seeking its warmth. "I could say the same," she admitted, her voice guarded, her gaze darting toward the door. "It's… a quiet place. I thought it might be a good spot to get away."

"As did I," Georg said, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "It seems we both have the same idea."

The weight of the unspoken hung between them, thick and palpable. Their last encounter still lingered in the air, a ghost neither of them dared to fully acknowledge. Breaking the silence, Georg gestured toward the chair opposite hers. "May I?"

Maria stalled, her gaze flickering to the empty chair and then back to him. There was a moment of hesitation, a brief glimmer of something in her expression – uncertainty, perhaps, or resignation. Finally, she nodded. "Of course."

Georg lowered himself into the seat, his movements slow and deliberate, as if testing the fragile truce that seemed to form between them. For a few moments, neither of them spoke. The soft hum of the café filling the void, punctuated by the occasional clink of cups and murmured conversation from other patrons. Georg studied her across the table, noting the slight tension in her shoulders and the way her hands remained curled around her cup, as though it might shield her from whatever storm she feared was brewing.

"I've seen you, quite frequently, really," Georg said at last, his voice measured but carrying an undercurrent of curiosity. "It seems, in a way, that the city wants to hide you. Unless…" He paused, his brow lifting slightly as his tone took on a teasing edge. "Unless you have been avoiding me, by chance, Fraulein."

Maria's lips parted as if to respond, but the words faltered on her tongue, her gaze dropping to the table. "Not avoiding," she said at last, her voice subdued and guarded. "Just…" She drew a shuddering breath in, her shoulders stiffening slightly before her tone cooled, her words sharper than before. "Why would I want to talk to you?"

The question landed between them with startling force, striking like a blow, cutting, but Georg didn't flinch. Instead, he blinked, taken aback by the unexpected edge in her tone. He leaned back slightly, his brow furrowing as he tried to make sense of it. What had he done to warrant such coldness?

"Why wouldn't you?" he countered, the words escaping him almost reflexively. His tone held genuine confusion, his gaze searching her appearance for any clues. "I'm not sure I understand, Fraulein."

Maria's eyes narrowed, her expression wary, almost defensive. "I don't see the purpose in dredging up the past," she said, her words still clipped, but now layered with something deeper, harder to decipher. "I have my own life here. And so do you. Lives that no longer need to intertwine really. You have a mother for your children, and I no longer need a place to go, as your governess."

Georg's jaw tightened as her words pierced through him, their sharpness penetrating far deeper than he had anticipated. For a moment, he struggled to respond, the weight of her implication catching him off guard.

"Do you truly believe that's all you were to us?" he asked, his voice low, almost incredulous, tinged with disbelief. He leaned forward slightly, his piercing stare holding hers, searching for understanding. "Fraulein Maria, you weren't just the governess. You were family. The children adored you, they looked to you as if you were their own moth…" He hesitated, his words catching in his throat and trailing off. "They depended on you. And when you left, it devastated them."

Maria's expression flickered with a wide array of emotions, but no words came. She looked away, her grip on the cup strengthening once again. Georg noticed the slight tremor in her fingers, the tension in her posture. Her silence spoke louder than any words might have, and it only deepened the ache in his chest.

"Maria," he began again carefully, his tone softening, the formality of her title momentarily forgotten in his earnestness. "If I have done something to offend you, I would hope you'd tell me."

"Offend me?" she repeated, a note of mistrust in her voice. She turned her gaze back to him, her eyes slightly cloudy. "No, Captain. You've done nothing to offend me. You've only done what you thought was right."

The words were neutral, almost indifferent, but the hint of swirling emotions was still unmistakable. A bitterness lingered in the air between them. Georg frowned, still unable to piece together the source of her anger. "Then why does it feel like I've wronged you somehow?" he asked, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant.

Maria's lips pressed into a thin line, her expression unreadable. "You haven't," she said after a long pause, but the tightness in her voice suggested otherwise. She drew another breath, her shoulders rising once again. "The children – why haven't I seen them? They write to me, but not often. I have been looking for them, hoping to see them, at least just once."

Georg froze, the question striking a nerve he hadn't expected. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair, his fingers curling against the table as guilt began to build in his chest. "The children…" he started, his voice wavering slightly. "The children are… away. At boarding school."

Maria's brows shot up, her guise shifting to one of shock. "Boarding school?" she repeated, her voice rising. "You sent them away? Why on earth would you do that?"

"It was a practical decision," Georg said quickly, the words tumbling out as he struggled to defend himself. "Elsa thought it would be best for them – to give them structure, a proper education – "

"Proper education?" Maria interjected, her voice now keen with fury. She leaned forward, her eyes blazing. "They needed you, Captain. Not structure. Not some cold institution miles away from their home. They needed their father."

Georg recoiled slightly at the intensity of her words, the harshness of her tone sweeping over him like a tidal wave. "Fraulein, I-" He faltered, unsure how to respond to the fierce, fiery passion in her voice.

"Do you even know what they're feeling?" she pressed on, her words rapid and unforgiving. "Do you know how lonely they must be, how much they must miss you, resent you even? After everything they've been through – losing their mother, losing you, getting you back, and now losing you again."

Georg felt suffocated at her words, her accusations settling painfully on his shoulders. "It wasn't my decision alone," he said lowly, defensively. "Elsa believed –"

"Elsa," Maria repeated, her voice dripping with disdain. She leaned back in her chair, shaking her head. "Of course. This was Elsa's idea."

Her words carried a finality that left Georg momentarily speechless. He opened his mouth to respond, offer some honorable defense of Elsa, possibly reprimand the sharp words that came from Maria, but she had already risen to her feet, her bag slung over her shoulder.

"I can't do this," she said, her voice trembling with barely suppressed emotion. "I can't sit here and pretend that any of this makes sense to me."

"Maria, wait," Georg said, rising from his seat as well, his hand reaching out instinctively. "Please, don't-"

But she just shook her head, eyes glistening, as she turned and walked away quickly. The bell above the café door chimed with decisiveness as it closed behind her. Georg stood frozen, his chest rigid with a mixture of shame and hurt. For the first time in a long while, he felt truly, utterly, and completely lost.

Just as Georg turned to leave, his gaze caught on a small notebook lying on the floor near the chair Maria had occupied. He hesitated, the sight of it tugging at him. Slowly, he bent down to pick it up, his movements careful, as though afraid the simple act might shatter the fragile tension that still hung in the air.

His fingers brushed against the worn leather cover, its edges frayed from frequent use. It was unmistakably hers, a testament to the small, intimate pieces of herself she left behind without realizing. He straightened, the notebook now resting in his hand, its weight feeling leaden. Glancing toward the door, he half-expected her to burst back in, scolding him for his intrusion, but the door remained closed. She was gone.

A faint, grim smile crossed his face – a flicker of amusement laced with melancholy. Maria, the ever-flighty, forgetful woman who had once filled the villa with her spirit, still lingered beneath her acute exterior. The comfort that thought brought him was fleeting, quickly overshadowed by the sting in his chest.

Georg shoved the notebook into the deep pocket of his coat, his fingers staying on the leather as if reluctant to let it go. He made his way toward the door, his steps slow, each feeling heavier than the last. Outside, the faint hum of Vienna's streets awaited him once again, yet he felt as though he was stepping into an entirely different world than the one he had just been in.

As he had recovered from the shock of seeing her in his hidden café, he had expected their conversation to be a pleasant exchange, a bigger glimpse into the life she led in Vienna. Instead, he was leaving more confused than ever, hurt in ways he hadn't anticipated, and burdened with a shame he couldn't fully comprehend.

Her words replayed in his mind, their severity cutting deeper with each recollection. Why had she faced him with such harshness? Such embitteredness? He thought back to the summer – the summer of her. Besides his cold demeanor at the beginning, which she had challenged with her unstoppable optimism and fearlessness, what had he done to deserve this wrath?

He knew the mention of his children at boarding school would gnaw at her, perhaps even anger her. Maria had always held firm beliefs about the importance of family, of being present for them. But the truth was, she had been upset – no, hurtful – long before he had let those words slip.

And her reaction to the news… it had been overwhelming.

The anger in her eyes, the way her voice had risen, cutting through the calm of the café – it was unlike anything he had ever seen from her before. It wasn't just disappointment or disapproval. It was deeper, violent, as though the very idea had wounded her in a way he couldn't fully comprehend. Her words left him reeling, each one striking with a force he had not expected or prepared himself for.

Georg ran a hand through his hair as the memory played out in his head. The Maria he had known – the Maria who was all warmth and smiles – had never spoken to him with such cold finality. Where was the young women who had approached life with a glass perpetually half-full? The woman who had brought sunshine into every corner of his once dark home? Where had the light gone? That Maria felt like a ghost now, a faint echo of the woman he had just encountered.

What had changed her so profoundly? What had happened to her in these past months to strip her of the hope and light she once carried effortlessly?

Her iciness wasn't just anger, he realized. It was pain. But what pained her so deeply? Surely not just the news of his children's absence. No, this ran far deeper, as though she had been carrying a burden he couldn't see, one he might have unknowingly placed there himself.

He frowned, his chest tightening as the thought took root. Had he failed her in some way? He had thought, foolishly, that her departure had been as simple as she claimed – her calling, her choice. But now, after today, he couldn't shake the feeling that there had been more. So much more. Something unspoken that simmered beneath her every word, something he was only just beginning to understand.

His hand brushed against the pocket where her notebook rested, and for a moment, he considered pulling it out, opening it right there on the street. But he stopped himself. It felt intrusive, wrong, to peek into something so personal. Wasn't that exactly what she had denied him in their conversation – a more personal look into the woman she had now become?

Georg signed, his breath clouding in the crisp air. As he started down the street, the notebook weighing heavily in his coat, and he resolved to return it. Not now but soon. And when he did, perhaps he could finally get answers that had eluded him today.

But as he walked away, another thought crept into his mind, one that unsettled him even more than her grave words or her persisting bitterness: perhaps the answers he sought wouldn't bring him clarity, but rather more questions. Perhaps questions about what had drove her from his family and into this new life to begin with. Questions he wasn't sure he was ready to face.

With each step, the confusion, the hurt, and the shame churned within him, leaving him more unsteady than before. The streets of Vienna blurred around him, and yet all he could think about was the weight of the notebook in his pocket and the woman who had unknowingly left it behind.

For now, he needed to make sense of the emotions swirling within him, the questions she had left unanswered, and the truths he might not be ready to face. Returning the notebook would have to wait.

And despite all the confusion and hurt Maria had stirred, he couldn't help but feel the faintest flicker of hope – hope that the answers he sought might still be within reach, hidden somewhere in the labyrinth of the city or the pages of a forgotten notebook.

With a steadying breath, he resolved to find those answers. One way or another.

Pushing these out sooo fast, but I go back to school on Friday which means like no more free time. So I am soaking in my ability to post so quickly hehe. Like always, I hope y'all enjoy this. I struggled a bit with the dialogue at times, so let me know if you have suggestions that seem more fitting for Georg and Maria!

This story is truly my baby already, and it has been so fun writing. This slow burn is going to be too delicious.

I own nothing of the Sound of Music!