Azalea stood there, wrapped in a stranger’s coat. The fur was expensive, though not new, and smelled of frosty wood and a faint hint of musk.

The man was staring at her for far too long for a casual passerby. Under his direct, piercing gaze, Azalea straightened her back. It was a habit ingrained by years of court etiquette, one she hadn’t forgotten even in Albert’s house. Her shoulders squared, her chin lifted. The image of Lady Blank, correcting her with her pointer, flashed through her mind.

“Thank you for your concern, sir,” her voice, hoarse from the cold, sounded unexpectedly firm.

The man smiled, stroking the restless horse. For a girl who had been wandering alone in the forest during a storm, she carried herself with too much dignity. Marcus looked at her, but he couldn’t help but see Jane in her.

“It looks like you could use some rest,” Marcus smiled gently, and the wrinkles on his forehead deepened, making his face look surprisingly kind. “A hot meal and clean, warm clothes. Winter started earlier than usual this year, and the forest doesn’t forgive mistakes.”

As he spoke those last words, Azalea noticed a sadness in the man’s eyes, but she didn’t want to rub salt in the wound.

She glanced at the road, which now clearly led forward. The path back to Albert’s house was cut off for her not only by the snow, but also by a vow she had made to herself. She would definitely not be going back. She had nowhere to go, but at the same time, she realized one simple truth. Now she could go wherever she wanted.

“My wife and I are staying at an inn a little further west,” Marcus continued. “Elena… she’s a master at making even the harshest places feel cozy. And she’ll grumble at me until spring if she finds out I left a lady alone on this road.”

He held out his hand, inviting her to mount the horse. He remembered he’d forgotten to introduce himself.

“I seem to have lost all my manners.” “I am Marcus Rosenthal.”

“Azalea von…” She trailed off. “Just Azalea.”

Marcus nodded understandingly.

Azalea looked at his open palm. She hesitated briefly. Then she placed her slender, work-roughened hand in his broad palm.

“Thank you, Mr. Marcus,” she said quietly. “I’ll accept your invitation.”

“Oh, merciful gods,” Elena exhaled, casting her sewing aside. She didn’t press her husband for answers or demand explanations from the stranger. “Marcus, down with you, quickly! Arrange for hot water and order some hearty broth. Move!”

The woman's voice was filled with concern.

When her husband had left, Elena approached Azalea and gently eased Marcus’s heavy cloak from her shoulders.

“You’re trembling, you poor thing. Don't be afraid, you’re safe here. Come, there’s a tub behind the screen. The water will be here any moment.”

The hot bath felt like a magical ritual to Azalea. As she lowered herself into the water, she felt, for a fleeting moment, as if the grime and soot of Albert’s house were being washed away along with her old self.

Meanwhile, Elena laid out clean clothes on the bed.

“Here, put these on. It’s my dress. It’ll be a bit large for you, but we can take it in later.” She turned to leave, but Azalea’s voice stopped her.

“Thank you...”

Elena smiled softly.

“Rest now. Allow yourself to soak in the warmth, and then join us.”

She touched the girl’s shoulder, giving it a light squeeze, before leaving her alone.

Marcus and Elena sat at the table, which was already set with a small pot of food, fresh bread, a set of dishes for three, and hot tea. Elena held a mug in her hands while Marcus sat in silence. She knew her husband well. She understood perfectly why he had brought the girl here. She would have done the same.

Elena reached across the table and placed her hand over Marcus’s. She squeezed it lightly, a silent reassurance that he had done the right thing. Marcus looked at his wife with gratitude.

When Azalea stepped out from behind the screen, the clothes hung loosely on her. Elena was more stately and broader in the shoulders. The dress had to be cinched tightly with a belt, its sleeves rolled up. Yet, the fabric was soft. The warm cloth smelled of lavender, not of sour sweat and embers.

Azalea entered the adjoining room where Marcus and Elena were waiting. Both turned toward her.

“I’m sorry,” Azalea awkwardly adjusted the collar, which was slipping slightly off her shoulder. “It’s... a bit big on me.”

“It’s no matter,” Elena rose, approaching the girl to straighten the ribbon at her waist. “What matters is that it warms the body. And we shall warm your soul with a hot supper. Sit. The soup has just been brought. Marcus, dear, ask them to bring the stew as well. Azalea needs to eat properly.”

She turned back to Azalea and offered a wink.

“My mother always said: ‘On a full stomach, even trouble is no trouble.’ ”

Azalea tried not to rush. She savored every morsel. However, as the realization hit her that it had been so long since she had eaten a proper meal, a single tear escaped and rolled down her cheek. Marcus and Elena exchanged a look. Elena placed a hand on Azalea’s back.

“It’s alright, dear. You don’t have to hold it in. Let the tears fall if you wish,” her voice was steady and calm.

Azalea shook her head.

“It’s just... the food was so delicious...” she sobbed, sniffing her nose as she wiped her face and returned to her meal.

When the stew was finished, Azalea leaned back slightly in her chair. She looked up at the Rosenthals.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice quiet but firm. “For everything.”

Marcus set aside his tea mug and leaned forward.

“We don’t wish to pry, Azalea, but... a lone woman in a snowy forest is no accident. You didn’t just lose your way, did you?”

Azalea looked down at her hands. They were clean now, yet they still bore the traces of hard labor. She took a deep breath. She didn't want to lie to these people.

“I left my husband,” she answered, and the confession rang out like the final chord of an old, discordant song. “I ran away. Albert... he never saw me as a wife. To him, I was a tool. My mother came from an ancient lineage, and though my father, Berthold von Berge, ruined the estate to the last penny, the title and the status of the head of the family formally passed to me.”

Elena frowned, her lips pressed together in sympathy.

“And he expected that name to open doors for him into high society?”

“Yes,” Azalea gave a bitter smile. “He expected promotions, grants, influence. Instead, he only got my father’s debts. When he realized I was a poor investment, the house turned into a prison. These last months, I was nothing more than a servant. I worked in the garden, scrubbed the stoves, skimped on food, while he...” She broke off, the memory of Marie and the infant flashing through her mind, but she only clenched her jaw tighter. “I simply decided that I’d had enough and left. By the time I came to my senses, the blizzard had begun.”

Marcus sighed heavily and glanced at his wife. In his gaze, there was more than just sympathy, there was a bitter recognition. Elena noticed how her husband tensed. She turned to Azalea, who was staring fixedly at the table.

“You need a divorce.”