At the time, Ga had just climbed out of bed. A drowsy tutor sat on the chair beside it, having fallen asleep while waiting for her to wake. Ga slipped quietly out of the room, stepped outside the house, and looked around. When she spotted her mother sitting beneath a tree, reading, she ran toward her in excitement and mischievously burrowed into her arms.

  “Oh! You’re finally awake, my little doll,” her mother exclaimed, surprised and delighted, calling Ga by her childhood nickname.

  “Mommy, what are you reading?” Ga asked, even though she could already see the book’s pages as she nestled close. She only wanted to keep talking to her.

  “Mommy’s reading a book called How to Make a Little Doll Love Her Mother Even More,” her mother replied patiently, feeding her sweet nonsense.

  “Haha, Mommy, you’re lying. There’s no such book,” Ga laughed, delighted even by the obvious fabrication.

  “Of course there is,” her mother said warmly. “See? This is what the book taught me.”

  She kissed Ga gently on the forehead, then guided her head onto her lap. One hand softly stroked Ga’s hair while the other held the book and continued reading.

  With her head resting on her mother’s knees, surrounded by that familiar, gentle scent unique to her mother, Ga slowly closed her eyes. She drifted toward sleep, peaceful and content, like a well-fed cat basking in warmth.

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  “Hehe, little doll,” her mother whispered. “Don’t fall asleep again.”

  “Mommy…”

  Ga woke from the memory and returned to reality.

  No pillow, no matter how soft, could ever compare to her mother’s lap. No fabric, no matter how carefully washed or scented, could replace the reassurance of her mother’s smell. The thought sent a burning wave of longing through her chest. Her throat tightened, and she began to sob quietly.

  Then, in the very next instant, a sharp, violent pain twisted through her abdomen.

  Her body curled inward reflexively. The grief vanished at once. The sorrowful expression on her face hardened into something cold and composed, the emotional shift abrupt and unsettling.

  Ga stood up.

  She walked to the desk, pulled open a drawer, and wrapped her fingers around a pair of scissors. Then she moved slowly into the bathroom.

  That evening, Robert and Jana knocked on Ga’s door.

  The door remained locked.

  There was no response.

  Late into the night, the couple lay awake, unable to sleep.

  “She’s like this now,” Jana said quietly. “Do you really think she’ll come to her senses?”

  “I don’t know,” Robert replied, his expression conflicted. “But what’s meant to come will come. In the end… she isn’t our child.”

  “I know,” Jana said. “That’s why I was more casual about her presence from the beginning.”

  “Ah… really?”

  “Yes. And I think you need to prepare yourself. If she still decides to leave, you’ll need to think about how you’re going to face that. It’s better for her—and for you.”

  Robert fell silent for a moment, then let out a low sigh.

  “Maybe she really will find a place to belong over there. Who knows… with the gods’ protection, perhaps she’ll truly fit in with the Viking children.”

  Jana nodded softly.

  “That’s the right way to think about it. May the gods watch over her.”