"Poor thing, Frau Nina left here very upset, my child," Father Norman said as he walked alongside Maria toward the sacristy. His voice was gentle, but his words carried a weight that only deepened the guilt gnawing at Maria's heart.

She had come to him, desperate to find Frau Nina, but instead, she was met with confirmation of her worst fears.

"This has been taking a toll on her," he said to Maria, who was barely able to look the priest in the eye.

Father Norman sighed, his expression unreadable. They reached the sacristy door, and he pushed it open. Inside, at a wooden table, Daniel was bent over a piece of fabric, his fingers moving deftly as he sewed.

The soft candlelight illuminated his focused expression, and for a moment, Maria was distracted by the sight of him, so content and peaceful in his work.

Father Norman, however, scowled. "What are you doing?" he asked, stepping closer.

Daniel looked up and held the fabric closer to his chest. "I'm making a new mantle for the Virgin Mary," he said proudly, his face alight with joy.

The sight of the sacristan's enthusiasm only seemed to sour the priest's mood further. His lips pressed into a thin line.

"Stop that nonsense," Father Norman said sharply. "You have a habit of embellishing those mantles, and I've had enough of it. If I wanted it done, I would have hired a seamstress."

Maria flinched at the tone of his voice, but Daniel only lowered his gaze, nodding obediently as he set his needle aside.

The priest pointed at the fabric with a disapproving glare. "Sewing is a woman's job," he said firmly.

Daniel, looking guilty, quickly folded the fabric and set it aside. His fingers lingered over it for a moment before he let out a small sigh, then glanced at Maria and Father Norman.

"Are you looking for Frau Nina?" he asked.

Maria immediately turned to him. "Do you know where she is?"

Daniel nodded. "I saw her board a train to Vienna earlier today. I was running errands near the station when I spotted her."

Maria's breath hitched. "Vienna?" she repeated, her mind racing. Why would Frau Nina go there?

Father Norman's expression darkened. He didn't voice his concerns, but Maria could feel the weight of his stare.

"I don't understand," she murmured, more to herself than anyone else. "She never mentioned any plans to leave." She turned to the priest. "Maybe she went to the convent. To speak with my superior. I need to call the convent," she said, already stepping toward the door. "I'll see if she's there."

Father Norman remained silent as Maria hurried off. But once she was gone, his expression grew troubled. He let out a heavy sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Lord help her," he muttered under his breath.

Because if Frau Nina had truly gone to Vienna, there was only one reason that made sense to him.

She had gone to confront the Captain.

In Stuwerviertel.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

Georg sat alone in his office, his suit jacket discarded over the back of his chair, his tie undone, and the top buttons of his shirt unfastened. The weight of the past few days pressed down on him, suffocating, like the fabric of his own clothes tightening around his throat.

With a sigh, he reached into his desk drawer, pulling out a cigar. The familiar routine of lighting it and bringing it to his lips did little to ease the heaviness in his chest. He leaned back in his chair, exhaling a slow stream of smoke, lost in thought.

The door suddenly swung open without so much as a knock.

Lilian, Daniela, and Marie barged in, their expressions a mix of frustration and indignation. Marie led the way, her fists clenched at her sides, while the other two trailed close behind.

"He's been causing trouble again," Lilian declared, arms crossed.

Georg let out a slow breath, tapping ash into the tray beside him. "Who?"

"The bastard tried to kiss Marie without permission," Daniela said, her voice sharp with anger.

"And he almost ran out without paying for his drinks," Lilian added.

"Almost," Marie corrected with a smirk. "Because I threatened to kill him if he didn't."

Georg pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling through his nose. "I assume he paid?"

"Oh, he paid," Daniela confirmed. "And then Marie kicked him out."

Georg's gaze flicked to Marie, who tilted her chin up in defiance.

"Marie chased him around with a knife for good measure," Lilian supplied.

Georg sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "Do you know his name?" he asked.

Marie shrugged. "No. But I remember his face."

Daniela nodded. "We'll make sure he doesn't come back."

Georg leaned forward, resting his forearms on his desk. "I'll handle it."

The scratch of Georg's pen against paper filled the room as he finished writing the memo, noting down every detail the women provided about the man they wanted banned. Lilian, Daniela, and Marie stood around his desk, watching as he signed his name with a quick stroke.

Just as he set the pen down, a knock echoed from the door.

Georg looked up at the women, chuckling. "At least someone in this place knows how to knock."

Lilian smirked, but none of the women responded, their attention shifting toward the door. Georg straightened and called out, "Come in."

The door creaked open, revealing an old woman standing at the threshold. She was dressed in a crisp white day dress, its modest length falling just below her knees. A thick beige woolen coat wrapped around her frail frame, and a knitted shawl draped over her shoulders. In one hand, she held a small handbag. In the other, a rosary.

The air in the room shifted. The three women stared, their mouths slightly agape, as if trying to make sense of the sight before them. An old religious woman in a place like this? It was almost laughable.

Georg, too, was caught off guard, but he quickly cleared his throat, masking his surprise. He glanced at the three women. "Leave us."

Lilian and Daniela hesitated for a moment before moving toward the door. Marie lingered a beat longer, her eyes fixed on the old woman, a wariness in her expression that Georg didn't miss.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

Frau Nina stood rigidly in the office, her sharp gaze sweeping over the room—the lavish furniture, the faint scent of cigars lingering in the air, and most of all, the man standing before her. This was him. The Captain. The man who had led Maria astray.

Her lips pressed into a thin line as she took in his appearance. His disheveled state, the way he carried himself with a careless ease. His shirt was unbuttoned, exposing his chest as if modesty was a foreign concept to him. He had been servicing those women, she was certain of it. How could he not? The three of them looked exactly like the type of women who clung to men like him—daring, provocative, the very picture of temptation.

The Captain must have noticed her aversion because, without a word, he grabbed the suit jacket draped over his armchair and shrugged into it. His fingers worked quickly to button his shirt, and only then did Frau Nina allow herself to look at him fully.

She took a breath and steadied herself. Then, with a firm voice, she broke the silence.

"I'm Nina. I'm Maria's mother."

His expression darkened instantly. His sharp blue eyes narrowed at her, scrutinizing her words. A mirthless chuckle escaped him, though there was no humor in it.

"Maria's mother?" he repeated, voice laced with skepticism. "Her mother has been gone for years."

Frau Nina hitched a breath, her pulse quickening. How could this man—this stranger—know that she wasn't Maria's real mother? The thought sent a chill down her spine, but then she nodded inwardly. Of course, the Captain must have devious means of prying into Maria's past. A man like him, living in a place like this—digging up secrets was surely second nature to him.

She tightened her grip on her rosary and straightened her shoulders. "I may not have given birth to her, but I have been a mother to Maria ever since I met her. She was a lost child, desperate for guidance after spending years under the roof of that abusive uncle. I took her in. I raised her. I love her as my own."

The Captain let out a quiet snort, shaking his head as he muttered, "Abusive is an understatement."

Frau Nina frowned. The way he said it—so certain, so knowing—it unsettled her. How much did he know about Maria?

She shook her head. No. That wasn't why she was here.

Taking a deep breath, she stepped forward, closing the distance between them. With newfound confidence, she met his gaze, steel against steel.

"Leave her alone," she said firmly. "For her sake, and yours."

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

The woman stood firm, her hands clasped tightly around the rosary as if drawing strength from it. Though Georg didn't know her, he found himself somewhat grateful that Maria had someone like her. After everything Maria had been through, at least she had a mother figure who had cared for her when no one else did.

But Maria had never spoken of this woman. He hadn't even thought to ask.

"Frau Nina," he repeated her name, tasting the weight of it. Then, gesturing to the chair across from his desk, he offered, "Would you like to sit?"

She didn't. Instead, she stood her ground, her sharp eyes scanning him with an unflinching gaze. "My daughter is in a pitiful state."

Georg exhaled, running a hand through his hair before meeting her gaze. "I love your daughter," he admitted, his voice steady, honest.

Frau Nina's lips pressed into a thin line. She looked him up and down, judgment flickering in her eyes. Then, with great conviction, she said, "Maria is destined to be a saint. Do not steer her away from her path."

Her words hit him like a cold wind, but Georg didn't waver.

"Do no harm to her," she pleaded, her voice quieter now, but no less firm.

Georg shook his head, his expression resolute. "I would never harm Maria," he said. "On the contrary, I love her." He took a breath before adding, "And she loves me back."

Suddenly, the woman wagged her finger at him angrily. "My daughter loves Jesus and me—her mother. No one else."

Georg remained silent, studying her. It was obvious now—she had no idea about Maria's past with him.

She turned on her heel, walking toward the door, then pointed at it as if ordering him out of his own office. "There are plenty of unattached women out there who want you," she said sharply.

Georg exhaled through his nose, his jaw tightening. "I don't want these unattached women," he said, his voice even. "Because I don't love them."

The older woman scoffed. "What do you know about love?" she snapped. "A man like you, surrounded by luxury and women—you wouldn't know the first thing about it."

Georg tilted his head, eyes darkening. "And you?" he countered. "What do you know about love?"

The woman let out a short, smug chuckle. "I have sacrificed everything for Maria," she said with certainty.

Georg stepped closer, his presence towering over her now. His voice dropped, steady and sharp. "I don't mean a mother's love." He searched her face, watching for even the slightest flicker of hesitation. "Have you ever loved someone the way I love Maria? The way I'd do anything for her?"

Georg let out a slow breath, steadying himself. He shook his head and said, "I just want to be happy."

Frau Nina mirrored his movement, shaking her head in return. "There is no happiness in sin."

Georg scoffed, his lips curling into something that wasn't quite a smile. "You know what's different between us?" he asked, voice calm but pointed. "You only know how to live love through tears. And me—through laughter."

The older woman scowled, but he didn't stop. "You only know how to love while suffering," he said, taking a step closer, "and I only know how to love to find happiness."

His gaze hardened. "You're here, telling me how much you love Maria. But you didn't come thinking about her happiness. You came thinking about yours."

Frau Nina's eyes widened in outrage. "Me?" she scoffed, pressing a hand to her chest as if to deny the accusation.

Georg tilted his head. "Have you asked Maria where her happiness lies?" His voice was soft now, dangerous in its quiet insistence. "If it's by my side... or locked away in a convent?"

The older woman opened her mouth, then closed it.

"Have you asked?" he pressed.

She swallowed, shaking her head. "No," she admitted. Then, her chin lifted defiantly. "And I won't ask."

"Why not?"

"Because," she said, her voice trembling with conviction, "you have her under a spell."

Frau Nina's eyes glistened with unshed tears as she looked at Georg. "You have a future ahead of you," she whispered. "But I... I have nothing left to wait for."

Georg exhaled through his nose, pressing his lips into a thin line.

"All the hard work I've put into Maria," she continued, her voice trembling. "That holy life she was meant to have... and you're trying to take it away."

Then, to Georg's horror, she fell to her knees before him.

"No—don't do this," he said quickly, reaching down to grasp her arms, trying to lift her back up.

But she stayed there, kneeling, her head bowed. "She won't have the strength to resist you," she said, voice heavy with despair. "That's why I'm pleading with you—leave Maria alone. Let her find peace."

Georg's hands clenched at his sides. He stepped back, shaking his head. "I can't do what you're asking," he murmured. "You're asking for more than I can give."

Frau Nina pressed her lips together, her expression tightening as she wiped her tears away. Sniffling, she straightened, looking him over one last time.

"May God enlighten you," she said quietly.

With that, she turned and left the office.

Georg stared at the door she had just exited through, her words echoing in his mind.

May God enlighten you.

The same words Maria had written in her letter.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

Morning light streamed through the small window, casting long shadows in Maria's modest room. She sat on the edge of her bed, hands clasped together, her rosary wound tightly between her fingers. Sleep had barely come to her—every time she closed her eyes, she saw Frau Nina's face, heard the older woman's voice, imagined all the terrible possibilities of where she might have gone.

A door creaked open. Then closed.

Maria's head snapped up. She rushed out of her room and into the small common area.

There, standing by the doorway, was Frau Nina. Unharmed.

Relief flooded Maria so suddenly she nearly collapsed. "Thank God," she breathed, pressing her hands together. "Thank God you're safe—"

She moved toward the older woman, but Frau Nina recoiled, lifting her hands.

"Don't touch me," she said sharply.

Maria froze.

"I'm dirty." Frau Nina's voice trembled. She crossed her arms over herself, fingers gripping her sleeves as though she wanted to tear them off. "I need to get rid of these clothes right away."

Maria frowned, concern filling her. "But... where?" she asked. "You're not dirty at all."

Frau Nina lifted her chin, her expression filled with a deep, unsettled disgust. "If you want to be the most miserable woman on Earth," she said, voice low and shaking, "then stick to that man."

Maria's brows knitted in confusion. She stared at the woman she had considered a mother, searching her face.

"What are you talking about?" she asked.

Frau Nina hurried past Maria, stripping off her coat as if it burned her. She tossed it aside, her breath uneven, her hands trembling.

"I'm talking about him," she spat. "The Captain."

Maria's stomach dropped. She stared at the older woman, wide-eyed. "You... you met him?" she whispered.

Frau Nina inhaled sharply, as if trying to steady herself, then nodded. "I did."

Maria's heart pounded. "Why?"

Ignoring her, Frau Nina pressed on. "When I came to his club—" she nearly spat the word, "—I saw the kind of place he lives in. Women everywhere, Maria. Barely clothed."

Maria felt something in her tighten. She scowled, anger flickering across her face. "What possessed you to go there?" she demanded. "To the red-light district of all places?"

Frau Nina matched her scowl. "I went," she snapped, "because I needed to see for myself what you were so willing to trade your sanctity for."

Maria's jaw clenched. "How could you do something like that? It's dangerous!"

Frau Nina averted her gaze, her lips pressing into a thin line.

Maria exhaled sharply. "I was worried about you," she went on, her voice thick with frustration. "Do you know what could have happened to you?"

For a moment, Frau Nina said nothing. Then, slowly, she lifted her eyes to Maria's.

Frau Nina's expression darkened as she removed her shawl, as though the mere memory of that place clung to her skin. "They were standing right in front of his desk," she said, her voice tight with disdain. "Three women."

Maria's brows furrowed. "Three?"

The older woman nodded. "And he—" she exhaled sharply, her lips pressed into a thin line, "—he was improperly dressed, just showing himself to them."

Maria's stomach twisted at the vague accusation. "Showing himself how?"

Frau Nina hesitated. "Like a sinner," she muttered.

Maria frowned. "I don't know what that means."

Frau Nina's scowl deepened. "And you shouldn't know," she snapped.

Maria stepped closer. "Tell me."

"I will not!" the older woman turned away abruptly, brushing past Maria. "I need to cleanse myself. I need holy water—"

Maria followed her, her voice now firmer. "Then tell me what those women were like in his room."

Frau Nina stiffened. Maria could see the conflict flickering in her eyes.

Then, at last, the older woman turned to face her. "I barely glanced at their faces, but what you needed to know is that they are depraved,"

Maria's fingers tightened around the fabric of her dress as she stood motionless, staring at nothing. Could it be true? she wondered.

Could Georg really have done something with those women? The ones Frau Nina described with such disgust?

Her chest felt heavy, like something inside her was slowly crumbling. What about his love? she thought. His promises?

Had those words meant nothing?

Had he whispered them to others, the same way he had to her?

Behind her, Frau Nina's voice carried on, unwavering in its righteous condemnation.

"I clutched my rosary," she said, her voice firm but quivering slightly, "and I prayed. I begged Our Lady to give me courage... because I wanted to run. God, I— I want to die."

Maria stood frozen, her breath caught in her throat. Frau Nina's words rang in her ears like a funeral bell. The weight of it settled deep in her chest, pressing against her ribs like an unbearable burden.

She turned swiftly, reaching out, desperate to hold onto the woman who had been her mother in all the ways that mattered.

"Stop saying that!" Maria pleaded, her voice thick with emotion.

But Frau Nina only stepped away.

Her face was lined with sorrow, her shoulders trembling, yet her conviction did not waver.

"I don't want to be alive to see my daughter leave her vows," she said, each word sharper than the last. "Not for him."

Maria's arms hung limply at her sides. The pain in the older woman's voice was like a blade to her heart.

Before she could say anything more, before she could even think of how to make this right, Frau Nina turned and walked away, disappearing into her room.

Maria stood there, alone, as the door shut behind her.