The boy’s mother took a dislike to the green-eyed bride at first sight.

But there was no strength in her voice anymore. Only fatigue.

Ariadna walked over, sat at the old woman’s feet, and laid her head on her lap—for the first time in many years. The gesture wasn’t a plea for forgiveness. It was an act of acceptance. She felt her grandmother’s fingers tremble in her hair, and in that tremor she heard the whole untold story: fear, love, hate, guilt. Everything blended into one great, dark current.

“No need to drown him, Grandma,” she said quietly. “Let him grow. Let him be as much of a stranger as I am. Maybe he’ll have better luck.”

Outside, spring was already roaring—loudly, mercilessly, with the scent of awakening earth and distant smoke. Somewhere on the horizon, war rolled its heavy millstones. And inside Ariadna, at the very center of her being, something new was being born. Not a child. Not yet a decision. A decision to live on, without looking back, without making excuses, without forgiving.

She closed her eyes and smiled into the darkness. The smile was precise. Like a blade that had finally found its right hand.