Outside the day ended as the sun slowly settled between the crusty silhouettes of the bleak snowed in the city. The playing children filled into their respective households begrudgingly. The outer streets and the ramp of snow emptied, but the centre marketplace remained with activity. Heavily clothed merchants and craftsmen discussed future work or celebrated personal successes, while fires and heaters kept the marketplace from freezing. Snow continued falling endlessly from the sky as night drew closer. Thick clouds crawled over the sky as the warmth of the sun dissipated.   

     Annemarie paid the darkening sky no attention. It was a nearly daily occurrence, and it had become the normal evening sky for most inhabitants. Instead, Annemarie continued speaking on and on about the exciting intricacies, which she had picked up the last few days. During this time her mother let the stew finish cooking. She had fully polished the pearly stone slabs of the hearth and dusted the shelves in the living room filled with tiny mechanical gimmicks and toys, before returning to the stew.  

     Annemarie could smell the savoury taste of the stew, her mother made. She could smell the mix of vegetables, garlic, onion, and beef. Annemarie put her head over a freshly filled bowl of goulash stew and looked at it intently. Talking for the last hour had made her hungry. “You can start eating already,” Annemarie’s mother told the daughter and ladled another bowl soon after. Annemarie happily ate her stew. It was hot and spicy, and it pushed out the last feelings of coldness out of Annemarie. She sat back in her chair and relaxed. She suppressed a yawn as she swallowed, but her eyes were glossy nonetheless. She would have to go to bed soon, but she would also cuddle her mother heartily.  

     There was a strong knocking from the door and Annemarie gasped in surprise. It was not the careful knocking of Annemarie, the playful slaps of her mother or the roughened grunts from her father, but urgent and intrusive knocks. The door creaked slightly and cupboards rattled with their content. “Okay, okay, I’m coming,” her mother shouted at the unseen guest. She hurried towards the door after switching into warmer clothes. She knew the evening gust would be cool and handed Annemarie a coat to wear.    

     Annemarie wondered who and why someone was knocking at her door. It had happened before that somebody brought urgent news. Sometimes her mother or father was needed immediately. Sometimes it was a neighbour asking for spare coals and matchsticks. Annemarie hardly minded it. Her parents had instilled in her that it was important to help one’s neighbours. But today Annemarie needed to know why her dinner was interrupted. The thought of her mother leaving was distressing. Annemarie voiced her uncertainty.   

     “You’re not leaving, are you?” she asked her mother, but her mother interrupted her halfway through the sentence.   

     “I’m sorry my dear, but I’ll have to hear out our visitor,” Annemarie’s mother apologised softly but terse. Annemarie knew something was making her mother uneasy and perked up her ears. Now she needed to know what had happened. She would have walked over to the entrance too, but Annemarie knew she would only be in the way. Her father had taught her to be calm, professional and focused on her tasks. Her parents had extended their strict worth ethic more than necessary into their home life, but she had gone along with it enthusiastically. She promised herself more success for acting like an adult. She continued sitting at the table and took another spoonful of her stew. Shortly after the door was finally opened.  

     Annemarie felt cold air streaming into the living room and snowflakes rushing in with the air. Usually, they would not hear the evening winds through the thrice isolated glass. But now it was howling outside like a pack of wolves announcing their arrival. A hard voice fought the wind as the visitor entered. Annemarie couldn't hear what he had said, but her mother had and answered as she closed the door again, “how much? Where has it happened? Who are you getting?" Annemarie knew that didn’t sound good and concluded her mother would be leaving. The visitor answered in a gruff voice and spoke of things Annemarie did not understand yet. Annemarie reassured herself that it was only a matter of time and that she mustn’t worry about adult talk. She did her best to calm down and shifted around on her seat. But she had a sobering realisation. Annemarie concluded that even after skipping a grade she hadn’t come near her goal. She quickly banished her thoughts, but they returned the moment her mother packed up to leave.  

     As Annemarie’s mother left, she told her child, “Do not leave while we are not here. Remember the snow falls dangerously.” The messenger left with Annemarie’s mother and the old oak door was pulled shut against the howling winds. Annemarie sat still for a while until her disappointment fully set in. There were many things she should not do, but they felt all the same to Annemarie. They were simply diverse ways to express the same thing. Many small pleads to keep her safe. She understood them, but they made her feel belittled all the same.  

     Time passed by as Annemarie ate up alone. Her mother’s bowl on the other side of the table was a distasteful reminder. Every time Annemarie looked forward, she was reminded how this evening should have been. “Stupid work,” Annemarie exclaimed. She let her spoon fall loudly into her empty bowl. “I shouldn’t have been late," she continued to herself and turned towards the kitchen window. It was large and partially hidden by the kitchen utensils and cupboards. Annemarie walked over and stood onto a kitchen stool to look outside. She hoped her mother would be back quickly.  

     The sky was in uproar as snow fell to the streets. The wind twirled falling flakes through the streets until they were gone. The heat of the red-bricked buildings burned through the night. The sun had long disappeared behind rows of grey buildings and the streetlights came on. Annemarie looked under their shine in search of her mother. The streetlights had felt like magic to her in the past. She hoped for such a thing. Her parents were working heavily for the betterment of their surroundings and Annemarie was studying hard. Annemarie wanted to claim compensation. It didn’t feel fair to her that this was how it should have ended.  

     With a heavy breath, Annemarie forced herself to think of how wonderous her surroundings were. While she couldn’t see it, she was sure that the marketplace would be bustling with adults working through the night. She was sure her mother was also there helping other inhabitants. The old centre never slept, and its inhabitants stood together in their watch against the cold. The long winter had taken the surrounding city, but the town centre would remain theirs forever. Annemarie calmed a little, but she couldn’t accept her mother’s departure yet. She felt as if she had squandered their important time with her studies. But Annemarie knew it had also been her parents who encouraged her to work as hard as she could.   

     Annemarie gritted her teeth. She didn’t want to think about this anymore. She pushed some kitchen utensils to the side and pressed her face to the window. The window was chilly, and snow built up on the outside. No vendors, nor entertainers walked across the still clear roads. Snow piled where heating pipes would have kept the streets clear. She had nearly expected it, few people strayed from the centre marketplace at night. But the streets weren’t only bereft of people but also slowly filling up with more snow. “That shouldn’t be!" Annemarie complained, but nobody could change it now. Nobody but her mother. Annemarie continued, “why can’t you mess up on another day?” Her thoughts had sprung back to the first point, her entitlement to some time with her mother. Then Annemarie had come to another conclusion. She realised her mother was too quick to catch onto the need for her help. It had been as if Annemarie’s mother had known that something could happen. “Why couldn’t you just tell me?” Annemarie thought accusatory. “You don’t need to treat me like a dainty little flower." Her face flushed red from indignation, and she pressed herself harder into the window to cool down. She closed her eyes. It was late and she shouldn’t be grumbling over every detail she told herself.  

     Annemarie could hear some pipes squeaking with fresh warmth in the kitchen. She had puzzled out what had happened and was sure this was thanks to something her mother had just repaired. Maybe her father was also there she thought. “Good for them,” Annemarie mumbled tiredly. This night must be cold, and the thought made her shudder. She thanked her parents in mind for the warmth her house provided and hoped they wouldn’t be exposed to the cold winds of today’s night.   

     She put more coal into the fireplace of the living room. Although it was mostly a commodity, it was also a backup plan. The fireplace was meant for exactly these types of days. Based on her mother’s urgency Annemarie was sure other households were going to use them this night. Thankfully her house’s heating seemed to be alright. It put Annemarie’s heart to rest as smoke whistled through the chimney and sparks danced onto the stone floor.  

     Annemarie was as squeamish as before, and she decided to sleep in the living room. There she would notice her parents’ return and could then ask them what had happened in detail. She made herself comfortable in a nest of blankets on the floor near the fireplace and threw a few more coals into it. As she drifted into sleep the tensions in her mind seemed to loosen.  

     It was nice down here and she would know at once if her parents returned.   

     She wanted to ask them as soon as possible.  

     Yes, she would ask them.  

     And she slept, as her curiosity melted away under a warm blanket and her sleepy mind washed away into her dreams.