Verdi von Margaret.

It was the name you first gave to four-year-old me, a collection of the warmest sounds in the world.

You saved me. You took me in when I was abandoned by my parents, buried in the snow and freezing to death; you washed me, fed me, and showed me warmth.

In the spring, we went to see the flowers; in the summer, we played in the valley; in the autumn, we sat under beautiful old trees with fallen leaves; and in the winter, we made snowmen together.

Even as the years passed, that lovely daily life between you and me never changed.

You slowly permeated my everyday life, and just like that, you became my everything—no, my entire world.

And then one day, in our eighth year of living together, you said to me,

"I'll be back after you sleep ten nights."

It wasn't that I believed you just because you said it. It was because you stroked my hair so tenderly, because you smiled at me so brightly.

I believed, and...

I waited for you. One night, two nights, time flowed relentlessly until the tenth night came.

You did not return.

Still, I waited. I believed there was no way you would abandon me.

Then one day, the door to 'our house' where you were absent opened, and you returned.

I hoped that perhaps you would apologize, or perhaps you would hug me tight and say you couldn't come because something had happened.

But, you returned.

Still wearing that bright, clear, glass-bead-like smile.

With another child.