Maria stepped into the bakery, the sweet scent of freshly baked bread and pastries filling the air. She smiled at the familiar warmth of the place, waving at the baker behind the counter. "Good morning!" she called out cheerfully, her arms already reaching for the basket she always carried for her choir's snacks.
"Good morning, Maria!" the baker replied, a friendly grin on his face. "You're here for the usual, I take it?"
"Yes, please," she said with a nod. "The children love your apple strudels, and I promised them a little treat today. They've been working so hard on their singing."
The baker chuckled as he packed the strudels into a bag. "I've heard them once or twice during my morning deliveries near the orphanage. They sound like little angels. You've done wonders with them."
Maria's face brightened. "Oh, thank you! They've come so far in such a short time. I just can't wait for them to sing in the church. It feels like a dream coming true."
Her thoughts drifted back to the little choir. Each child had a unique story—some had eagerly volunteered, excited to learn how to sing, while others had taken a bit more persuasion. But now, they sang as a harmonious unit, their voices blending together beautifully. They had been practicing for weeks, and Maria could see the transformation in their confidence and joy. It filled her with a sense of purpose, one she hadn't felt in a long time.
Maria stood by the counter, watching the baker pack the apple strudels into a paper bag. The warm scent filled the air, mingling with the gentle chatter of customers at the small sitting area beside the bakery. It was a cozy spot where people enjoyed their coffee and pastries, and just beside the baker's counter was a radio playing softly in the background.
She handed over the coins to the baker and tucked the bag of apple strudels into her basket. "Thank you again," she said, smiling brightly as she turned to leave. "I'll see you next week!"
"Take care, Maria," the baker replied, waving as she stepped out into the bustling street.
As she made her way toward the orphanage, something caught her attention. The triplets—Alice, Alicia, and Anneliese—were sitting at one of the tables at the sitting area, chatting loudly as they always did. Their voices rose above the sound of the radio, and Maria couldn't help but overhear bits of their conversation.
"Did you hear on the radio this morning? About the baron's son?" Alice asked, her voice full of intrigue.
"Yes!" Alicia chimed in. "He left his bride-to-be and ran off to Stuwerviertel. Can you imagine? Of all places!"
"Stuwerviertel?" Anneliese whispered, eyes wide. "That neighborhood is full of degenerates, prostitutes... it's disgraceful!"
Maria felt a knot form in her stomach. She knew the triplets well—they were lively and curious, but often prone to gossip. As a servant of the Church, Maria had learned to be careful about such talk. Still, the mention of Stuwerviertel caught her attention. She knew it was a notorious part of Vienna, a place that most people avoided.
Just then, the triplets noticed her. They smiled brightly, waving her over. "Fräulein Maria! Come here!"
Maria walked toward them, her basket in hand. "Good morning, girls," she greeted with a warm smile.
"Good morning!" they said in unison. Alice leaned in closer, her voice lowered as if sharing a secret. "Have you heard the latest? The son of a baron—can you believe it—ran away to live in Stuwerviertel. He left his bride at the altar!"
Maria tilted her head slightly, listening but choosing her words carefully. "I hadn't heard about that," she replied softly, "but I think it's best not to judge anyone based on gossip. We never really know a person's story."
The triplets blinked, surprised by her response. They exchanged guilty glances before Alicia spoke up. "You're right, Fräulein. We didn't mean to gossip."
Maria smiled gently. "It's alright. We just need to be kind, even when we don't understand someone's actions."
The triplets nodded in agreement, their curiosity momentarily subdued. After a few more pleasantries, Maria made her way out of the bakery. As she stepped into the busy street, her mind wandered back to the conversation.
The thought of the baron's son intrigued her, despite herself. She knew the sort of judgment that could follow a man in his situation, but deep down, she believed that anyone—no matter how lost—could find redemption. People could change if they were given the chance. Perhaps he wasn't beyond saving.
She shook her head, dismissing the thought. Who was she to imagine turning a wayward soul's life around? She was just a simple woman on her way to becoming a nun. Yet, the thought lingered. Couldn't she at least pray for him? After all, God worked in mysterious ways, and she had seen miracles happen before.
With a deep breath, Maria focused on the path ahead. Her little choir was waiting for her, and she had a duty to them. Whatever trials awaited the baron's son, they were his own to face. Still, she couldn't help but feel a spark of hope—a hope that, someday, he might find his way back to grace.
⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻
Georg slumped over the bar, his head spinning as he nursed yet another drink. The dim lights of the club flickered in his blurry vision, and the dull hum of conversation around him felt like an ocean he was drowning in. His thoughts were spiraling, and the more he drank, the more they suffocated him.
This godforsaken love. It had ruined him.
He wasn't blaming Maria, not really. She had been his light once, his reason for hope. But he blamed himself—for still holding on to that love like a fool, for letting it shape his every decision. He was a grown man, yet here he was, undone by a memory, a love that no longer had a place in his life.
He took another swig from his glass, grimacing as the burn of the alcohol slid down his throat. This time, he truly hoped he'd drink himself into oblivion. Maybe that was what he deserved.
His thoughts wandered back to Elsa. He had treated her terribly—just like Maria had treated him. Elsa had confessed her love, pleaded with him, but he left her all the same. He was no better than what he thought Maria had been to him.
But then, did Maria really love him? He had always believed she did, but now...now he wasn't so sure. Maybe he had been fooling himself all along.
He let out a bitter laugh, barely noticing the man who had just entered the club. But as the figure drew closer, even in his drunken haze, Georg recognized the familiar face.
Max.
Once again, Max was there to save him from the mess he had made of his life. Georg couldn't decide whether he was grateful or ashamed.
Max approached him slowly, his expression a mix of concern and frustration. He sat down next to Georg and sighed. "Come on, Georg. Let's go home."
Georg stared at the bottom of his glass, not sure what to say. Home. Did he even have a home anymore? He had pushed Elsa away. He had disappointed his family. And Max—his ever-loyal friend—was still here, still trying to pull him out of the wreckage.
"You don't understand, Max," Georg muttered, his voice slurred. "I've done it again. I hurt Elsa...just like..."
Max shook his head. "That doesn't matter right now. What matters is getting you out of here. Hede's come home from France to see you."
Georg froze. His older sister had come all the way from France? His chest tightened with guilt. What had he done to deserve this? Maria, Elsa, Max, Hede... they all cared for him, and yet he had failed every single one of them. He had pushed them away, treated them poorly, all because he couldn't let go of a past that had long since slipped through his fingers.
"Max," Georg whispered, his voice breaking, "why do they care? Why do you care?"
Max looked at him with a sad smile. "Because, despite all of this, Georg, we still love you. You're still my friend. And Hede... she's worried about her brother. That's why."
Georg closed his eyes, the weight of his emotions too much to bear. He didn't deserve this—any of it. But here they were, still trying to save him from himself.
Georg's eyes were bloodshot as he shook his head, resolute despite the haze of alcohol. "No, Max," he slurred. "I'm not going home with you. I don't want to see my family again. Not after all this."
Max looked at him, frustration etched across his face. "Georg, your mother is worried sick about you. You can't just shut everyone out like this."
Georg's lip curled into a bitter smile. "I don't care. Not anymore. Just like she didn't care for me before all of this happened." His words were heavy with hurt and anger.
Max, determined to get his friend out of the club, grabbed Georg by the arm. "Come on, Georg. Let's get you out of here."
But Georg pried Max's hands away and gestured dismissively at one of the dancers who was moving provocatively across the floor. His grin was one of reckless abandon. "Why don't you enjoy yourself, Max? I'm done with all this family nonsense."
The dancer, sensing an opportunity, approached Georg with a sultry smile and slipped onto his lap. Georg tried to focus on her, the world outside blurring into a distant echo. Maybe this would help him forget everything, he thought, though a nagging voice in the back of his mind reminded him of the futility of such distractions.
As the dancer whispered in his ear, she invited Georg to her private rooms. His mind was too foggy to fully comprehend the situation, but the prospect of escaping his current pain momentarily was all he cared about. He followed her, stumbling slightly as he left Max behind, who was left exasperated and helpless.
Max watched Georg go, feeling a deep sense of defeat. He knew he couldn't force his friend to come back with him, but he couldn't shake the feeling that Georg was spiraling further into darkness. All he could do now was hope that Georg would eventually find his way back, even if he wasn't sure how or when that would happen.