December 14
Ingrid’s email pinged. A cancellation from two people who were supposed to have arrived this week, once again without any
explanation.
Ingrid looked up from the screen and shifted her gaze out the window. She stared at the mountaintop to her left. The one to
her right. The heather stretched out before her. The scree. The mountaintop to the left again, right, left, right, left. She’d
read that it was important to look up and stretch the eye muscles. It was supposed to help prevent visual damage and fatigue.
Despite Maja’s ominous predictions, Friday the thirteenth had passed smoothly, at least as far as Ingrid could tell. The ice climbers had gone out after a quick lunch and came back in the evening, flushed and excited. Today, they’d headed out again at dawn to get the most of the daylight. The British family had expressed their satisfaction with both the apartment and the hotel itself. The first service of Glitter Peak Lodge’s pre-Christmas menu had surpassed all expectations. The dinner guests had heaped praises on the food, and even Maja, who was always good at finding problems, had to admit that it had been successful. Happy visitors and an efficient staff—you had to be pleased with that. Ingrid had therefore allowed herself a bit of an internal celebration and a glass of wine at the bar with Vegard in the evening. Nana Borghild had gone straight up to her room when she came back from Dalen. Ingrid hadn’t been able to extract any more information about what her grandmother had been doing. Perhaps it had something to do with a secret Christmas present?
Anyway, it was now Saturday morning, and Ingrid had been sitting at her computer for several hours, going through insurance
plans. Her hand had gone back and forth to the bowl of caramels almost automatically as she worked. A small mountain of wrappers
had piled up on the desk beside her—a typical sign of stress, she knew that. She should drink water and get some fresh air,
but now she just had to get this work done. She’d just stood up from her desk to stretch her stiff back when there was a gentle knock on the office
door. She strode over and opened it.
Sunny was standing outside with some papers in her hand. She had the day off but had chosen to stay at the hotel to go through
old hotel advertisements for her paper.
“I thought you might want to see this,” she said eagerly when she came in. She handed Ingrid a thick yellow sheet of paper.
Ingrid took it and looked down at what seemed to be an old promotional brochure. The sheet was folded in half, with a border
in the shape of a stylized mountain range at the top and bottom of the pages. On the front, it said:
I love to go a-wandering
Along the mountain track
And as I go, I love to sing
My knapsack on my back
And where can you find better mountain tracks than on GLITTER PEAK?
Do you want to get away from the hustle and bustle of the city?
Welcome to Christmas celebrations
at GLITTER PEAK LODGE
Come to the mountains and enjoy the peace and quiet of nature. Skiing lessons. Christmas service. Delicious food from local
farms. Learn to waltz, swing, and folk dance every afternoon in the hotel’s dining room.
Instructors: Borghild Berg and Hallgrim Dalen
“Hallgrim Dalen,” Sunny said. “That’s the old guy down in the village, right? I thought it was kind of weird, and a little funny, to think that he and Borghild held dance classes up here.”
“Come and sit,” Ingrid said, gesturing toward the sofa in the corner, still staring at the paper in her hand.
Dance lessons with Borghild Berg and Hallgrim Dalen? What on earth was this about? It was difficult enough to imagine the Muskox waltzing and swinging and jumping—she could feel
the floor shaking just at the thought—but had he really danced here , together with Nana Borghild? It would have been like dancing polka with the devil.
“I can’t make sense of it,” Ingrid said, slumping down on the sofa next to Sunny. “If there’s one man Nana Borghild can’t
stand, it’s Hallgrim Dalen.”
Hallgrim was the only person her grandmother—who was usually perfectly polite and friendly toward everyone—didn’t greet when
they happened to bump into each other down in the village. This coldness was so striking that even newcomers such as Sunny
and Aisha had taken note of it. The village was small enough that you were bound to run into most people from time to time,
even if you did your best to avoid them. At National Day celebrations you were guaranteed to see people you knew, but you
could just look straight ahead and pretend you didn’t notice. At funerals and on Christmas Eve, everyone gathered in Dalen
Church—young and old, from Glitter Peak and from the village—but you could stay on opposite sides of the aisle and not exit
at the same time.
“But why?” Sunny asked.
Ingrid looked at her. “I really don’t know,” she said.
She didn’t have any good explanation for the animosity between Nana Borghild and Hallgrim Dalen. Perhaps she’d just attributed
it to the quirkiness of the elderly? But now, she realized there must be something more behind it. It was clear that at some
point, the relationship between the two of them had been completely different—and that something or other had made things
change.
When was the brochure from? Ingrid turned it over. “Christmas at Glitter Peak Lodge 1961” was written on the back. Such a long time ago! Her grandmother had been around twenty at the time. She married Christian Stugu in 1962, and they had their daughter, Angelina, in 1964. Even before that time, though, Borghild—the only child of the owners—had been a central part of the hotel. Not just her, but Hallgrim Dalen as well, it seemed. Ingrid scratched her head. Nana Borghild had told Ingrid quite a bit about the running of the hotel in the past, but she’d never heard anything about these dance evenings.
“Where did you find this?” she asked Sunny.
“It was in the archive folders you brought me,” Sunny replied. “I thought I’d look through them before I got started on the
guest books. It’s all so exciting!”
“Yeah, it really is,” Ingrid said thoughtfully. “Thank you so much for bringing this to me.”
One more thing to ask Nana Borghild about , Ingrid thought. And tell Thor about! She looked at the brochure again. She wanted to call him. Maybe he had found out more about the newspaper as well.
***
“Mmm! The soup and the bread are just as delicious as you said,” Pia said at the lunch table. Her cheeks were rosy after a
morning walk with Vegard, and she was eagerly eating Maja’s forest mushroom soup and homemade bread.
“Here you go, dear.” Dr. Wilkins held out the plate of bread for his wife—after making sure that the other women helped themselves
first. He was an old-fashioned gentleman that way. It seemed to come so naturally to them, Ingrid thought as she watched the
Wilkinses. At first, she’d thought of Dr. Wilkins as a rather sulky type, but the way he and Freya spoke to each other was
full of warmth and respect.
That was how a relationship could be, even after many, many years together. Could she have grown old with Preben? The tone between the Wilkinses was so different from what Ingrid and Preben had had. They had desired each other—perhaps even loved each other—but at the same time, they’d been rivals. Both wanted to lead, and both wanted to win. They hadn’t been able to find a proper power balance. She didn’t know how to avoid arguments with Preben without compromising herself. No wonder their relationship ended in tragedy.
As they were finishing the meal, Ingrid turned to Pia and asked whether she would help with something. “I’d love to discuss
our range of skincare products with you,” Ingrid said. “We’ve gotten some samples from suppliers, and I think you’re just
the right person to give me an opinion on them.”
She was pleased at having come up with an excuse to talk to Pia privately. What she really wanted to find out was how the influencer envisioned the days and weeks ahead, and how long she was actually planning to
stay at the hotel. It wasn’t easy to bring it up without seeming rude, but she thought it might be easier if it was just the
two of them.
They went up to Ingrid’s apartment, where she’d fortunately remembered to clean up the candy wrappers and used cups and plates.
She’d started seeing everything through Instagram eyes when she was with Pia, which made it easy to be self-critical. Ingrid
brought out the samples and set them up on the table while Pia found a comfortable position on the sofa.
“It’s an income opportunity I wasn’t aware of before,” Ingrid said. “But several cosmetics manufacturers have actually contacted
us to sell us their products.”
“How fun!” Pia exclaimed, picking up a skin cream with honey extract. “Glitter Peak’s honey cream. What kind of suppliers have gotten in touch?”
“There are some local companies and individuals, and some bigger and more commercial firms as well,” Ingrid said. “But it
has to be local if there’s any point in doing it.”
“Agreed,” Pia said. “Then the guests can go home with unique products, while farmers and small businesses get a nice additional
income. Can I open this?”
They applied honey cream to their hands and put beeswax pomade on their lips. Pia seemed to be quite enthusiastic about the
products.
“This one’s great!” she said, holding up a jar of cream. “It smells so good and makes my skin feel really soft.”
“Only local ingredients,” Ingrid said with a smile. “Easy to produce, too.”
“You know,” Pia said, “you could hold classes here! Weekend courses where guests get to make products adapted to their own
needs. Combined with a yoga and wellness retreat or something.”
Ingrid nodded slowly. She was still getting used to how different the hotel business was from when she was growing up, not
to mention how much more prosperous Norway had become. She’d learned that the profit margin of luxury products could be enormous,
and guests found things that they perceived as healthy and natural to be particularly attractive.
In addition to the skincare products, including Glitter Peak Balm (a muscle oil for relieving soreness after long hikes),
they also planned out how they could sell food and drinks with a sort of souvenir feel to them. So far, they had thought of
Glitter Peak honey and Borghild’s raspberry soda.
“You could sell clothes, too!” Pia suggested. “Hats, scarves, and mittens would make total sense up here in the mountains.”
“Yeah, that’s a great idea,” Ingrid said. “Hand-knitted by locals, maybe?”
And art. What about Thor’s photos? She could ask to see some of them.
“This oil is supposed to be good for pregnant women,” she said, handing Pia a dainty vial. “It has a special combination of
plant extracts and vitamins that are supposed to help with stretch marks. Well, not that you have them, of course,” she said,
cursing her own clumsiness. But Pia eagerly accepted the bottle.
“I’d love to try it,” she said. “I’ve gotten a lot bigger lately, and my skin is so hot and tight in some places. It almost
feels like it’s going to burst. It’s actually kind of scary.”
“Then you have to take this!” Ingrid exclaimed. Maybe now was her chance to ask some more questions. “But are you feeling
okay otherwise? Please don’t be afraid to ask for help or a ride if you need anything. Vegard and I are both here to help
you.”
“Thank you. That’s very kind. But I feel fine,” Pia said. “I’ve just been a little... tired... for a while. I haven’t
been sleeping or eating well. But thank you for your concern. You and everyone else here at the hotel have been so nice to
me.”
Pia fell silent and fiddled with the little vial. She set it down on the table and picked it up again.
“I get that it seems weird that I just keep staying,” she said. “I was really just supposed to be here for a weekend. But I’ve been keeping out of the public eye for personal reasons, and I feel as if I can handle it better up here. Like I’ve risen above it all—literally. And since I’m dreading going home and dealing with reality again, I’ve been putting off my departure . . . and maybe making myself out to be a little weaker than I really am. So I can have an excuse to stay.”
She smiled quickly and apologetically. It was strange to see her fumbling like this, Ingrid thought. She’d always perceived
Pia P—with all her charm and followers—as fiercely self-confident.
“So... I guess I’ll just come right out with it,” Pia said. “So you have to say no if it’s not okay. But I’d really like
to stay here until after Christmas.”
Ingrid was almost speechless. She would have thought that someone like Pia would have her calendar filled to the brim and
have all kinds of plans with family and friends for Christmas.
Ingrid glanced at Pia’s belly, and Pia noticed.
“I’m not due for a while!” she assured Ingrid with what was an almost apologetic smile.
Ingrid felt embarrassed. “No, no, that’s not what I was thinking,” she lied. “But yes, so you want to be here for Christmas?
Of course you can! We’ll be open.”
Pia looked pale and tense now, almost on the verge of tears. What was going on with her?
“You’re more than welcome to stay,” Ingrid said. “Of course! But... well... you don’t have anything else planned? Someone
coming to visit, or...?”
And that was all it took to make Pia P’s whole perfect facade fall apart. She squeezed her eyes shut, and her face flushed
red beneath her meticulously applied makeup. She made some sounds that Ingrid needed a few moments to realize were sobs. Then
the tears started to flow.
“No!” Pia exclaimed. “I have no plans, no visitors, no one to see. I don’t have anyone I want to be with at all. And defi nitely not someone who can help me with everything that’s on my mind. That’s the problem. Everything’s a mess!”
Pia sniffed, and Ingrid scurried to the bathroom to get some tissues, which Pia gratefully accepted. Ingrid got her a glass
of water and sat back down on the sofa.
“But what about your parents? Or... the father of the child?” Ingrid dared to ask.
She knew it was a sensitive topic, because Pia still hadn’t said a word about the man with whom she was having a child. Ingrid
had tried asking Vegard again, but he only said that Pia didn’t want to talk about it and that he respected that.
“The father of the child!” Pia sobbed. “There is none. At least not one who knows he’s going to be one. It was totally random.
I like being on my own and have always thought I would continue to do so. I like running my own life. I never really had any
desire for children either. I got an IUD a long time ago, so I’ve always felt I was safe. But obviously it didn’t work.”
She picked up another tissue, wiped her eyes, and blew her nose.
“It was a guy I met at a fashion party,” she said. “It was great for one weekend, but it was never meant to be anything more than that. He’s with another woman now. So I can’t really just tell him he’s going to be a father out of the blue. When I went to the doctor and got confirmation that I was pregnant, she assumed I wanted an abortion. And I thought so, too. But right then and there, when I saw the little creature on the ultrasound, I knew . . . I knew I didn’t want that. Suddenly, I was sure that I was meant to have this baby. So I went from being scared of being pregnant to suddenly being scared of losing the baby. I was so relieved when the doctors were able to remove the IUD without me miscarrying! Isn’t that crazy?”
Pia smiled at Ingrid, her eyes shining. A tear rolled down her cheek. “So now here I am. Single and pregnant. I thought it
would be fine. I’ve been so confident. I was going to make it without the father, and it didn’t matter what my parents thought
about it. It didn’t matter what the whole world thought. And I still kind of feel that way. But I also feel so very, very
alone.”
As she watched Pia sitting there with the tears streaming down her face and her hands wrapped around her round belly, Ingrid
could almost feel the physical void within herself. She could feel the uterus where once—for a few short months—a small being
had clung on, a tiny life that could have become a child but that she lost in the avalanche. It had bled out of her in the
white hospital sheets while knives of pain cut through her body and mind.
The avalanche. The great turning point in her life. The white dragon.
The dragon had wanted to destroy her. It had destroyed Giovanni. And it had killed the child she was expecting and her love
for Preben. The dragon still came to her at night and made her wake up gasping, suffocated beneath tons of snow. It had taken
away the joy of climbing and replaced it with paralyzing fear.
The pregnancy had come as a surprise and lasted for such a short time that she never even got used to the idea of being a mother. Ingrid had never wanted children, but she hadn’t actively rejected the idea, either. She’d just lived her life and, over time, considered parenthood to be less and less relevant. So when she found out she was pregnant, it came as a shock. She and Preben were preparing for the trip, having just arrived in Kathmandu, and were heading to Lukla to start the trek to base camp.
In hindsight, it was obvious that she should have figured it out long before. She’d missed her period a couple of times, but
that wasn’t unusual for female athletes who worked out a lot and had low body fat. The nausea and an upset stomach weren’t
unusual for her, either. As much as they’d traveled in recent months and as many feet of altitude as they’d climbed, it would
have been strange if she hadn’t had any kind of reaction to that kind of physical stress.
She was at a reception at the Norwegian embassy when she finally realized she was pregnant—or rather, someone told her. After
a standing buffet, fragrant Nepalese coffee and large platters of cakes made from boiled milk and syrup were brought in. The
specialty was deep-fried sweets that looked like fried orange spaghetti, dripping with fat and sugar. The effect on Ingrid’s
sense of smell was powerful and immediate. She sped out of the elegant room and threw up behind a plant in the atrium.
“Please, madam, you must take care,” said a voice behind her. She turned and found herself staring straight at a beautiful
Middle Eastern woman, who handed her a napkin and a glass of water. “Please come and sit down.”
The woman led Ingrid toward a bench and sat down next to her. “Excuse me... May I loosen this a bit?” The woman carefully
took hold of the belt that was tied at the back of Ingrid’s silk trousers, and which had been a bit too tight across her stomach.
It felt good to have a bit more room to breathe. The woman went on, “I don’t mean to overstep, but you shouldn’t wear such
tight clothes when you’re pregnant. It’s not good for you or the baby.”
Pregnant? The word echoed against the stone walls and in her head. Ingrid had wanted to laugh, but the laughter stopped in her throat. She realized that the woman might be right. How had Ingrid not realized this earlier?
She took another sip from the glass of water and looked at this beautiful stranger.
“Thank you,” she said. “I... What would I have done without you? My name is Ingrid, by the way.”
“And my name is Aisha. I’m in charge of the catering here tonight. I’m very pleased to meet you.”
Their conversation was interrupted when a boy who couldn’t be more than four or five came running from the kitchen and started
climbing up a trellis. “Hussein!” the woman exclaimed, launching into a long tirade in Arabic.
The boy climbed down and came toward them, seemingly crestfallen, but with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.
“Hello, Hussein,” Ingrid greeted him. “My name is Ingrid.”
He put his right hand on his chest. “Hi, Auntie Ingrid,” he said.
Later that evening, Ingrid came up with an excuse and took a taxi to a twenty-four-hour health center, where she breathlessly
asked for a pregnancy test. She’d taken the test right then and there, in the health center’s bathroom, and sat staring at
the two lines for such a long time that the staff had finally knocked on the door to ask whether she was all right.
She hadn’t said anything to Preben when she returned. Nor did she the next day. The preparations were well underway, and she never seemed to be able to find the right time to say anything. It was so big, this project of theirs. It had originally been Preben’s dream to set a world record for climbing the Seven Summits, the highest peaks on every continent. Together, they’d further developed their vision: they would be the first couple—man and woman—to do so in less than one hundred days. Their preparations had been going on for a long time, and they’d heard rumors of at least one other couple with the same plans. It had been so important to be the first. Their sponsors had promised them an extra bonus if they made it, and the prestige would be unparalleled.
Of course she was always thinking about telling Preben about the pregnancy; she just had to find the right moment—the right
opportunity.
And maybe Preben wouldn’t have allowed her to continue if he’d known she was pregnant. She couldn’t deny that the possibility
had contributed to her keeping it a secret. She felt strong, though, and was sure that it wouldn’t be an issue. It was still
quite early, and women had worked and struggled through pregnancies since time immemorial and still had healthy babies. So
she would wait to tell him, maybe when they were up on Mount Everest. On top of the seventh mountain. What a wonderful surprise
that would be!
But they never made it that far. She never got her chance. The avalanche took that away. The avalanche, the loss, the blood,
the hospitalization, the chaos, and the news that Giovanni hadn’t survived. And then it was too late. She couldn’t tell him
then.
For a long time, Aisha had been the only one who knew anything. Ingrid had never forgotten the care she got from the stranger
that night in Kathmandu—her eyes that saw what no one else did. When they happened to meet again at the embassy before Ingrid
was due to leave the country after the accident, Aisha was also the first, apart from the doctors, to find out about the miscarriage.
The doctors had told Ingrid she was four months pregnant.
Tears had welled up in Aisha’s eyes as Ingrid told her about everything that had happened. “You poor thing,” she’d said. “But Allah will give you new chances.”
They made a connection that day, and it almost seemed like fate when it turned out that Aisha was looking for a job in Europe.
It had taken a lot of work and even more dealing with bureaucracy, but as a Syrian with refugee status, she had been granted
a work permit in Norway and was able to bring Hussein to Glitter Peak. She and Ingrid didn’t talk much about what had happened
but carried the secret like something fragile that still bound them together.
Ingrid had later confided in Vegard, and he’d told her several times that she had to tell Preben about what had happened.
He had the right to know about it, and it might ease the burden for her, too. But no—she didn’t want to talk to Preben about
it. She didn’t want to talk to Preben about anything at all.
So, Preben was never going to find out that he might have been a father. And Ingrid would never know what it would have been
like to be a mother. In retrospect, she somehow thought it was a punishment she’d brought upon herself. Punishment for setting
out on the expedition without taking this new life into account. For not involving Preben and making him take responsibility.
For not letting the child’s well-being take precedence over what she wanted to do. It was this selfishness, this overconfidence,
that had caused her to lose all three: the child, Preben, and climbing.
Not even Nana Borghild knew about the child. Ingrid didn’t know why she hadn’t told her grandmother; they’d always been so
close. But this was too painful. It was Ingrid’s own sorrow to bear. Perhaps she and her grandmother were too close for Ingrid to put this on her. For her grandmother, the loss of her great-grandchild would also be a reminder that the family at Glitter Peak was dying out. After Ingrid, there wouldn’t be anyone left.
Pia and Ingrid sat in silence for a while. Ingrid felt the tears welling up. Why was she still so affected by this? It had
been a long time—more than a year and a half now. It also wasn’t the first time someone had been through an accident or a
breakup. It wasn’t the first time someone had miscarried, either. Miscarriage was actually pretty common, even though the
fourth month was relatively late. People went through this kind of thing all the time. Most people moved on and tried again.
For some, such an event might even have been the impetus for a change in their lives.
Ingrid had thought that moving back to Glitter Peak could be a completely fresh start. She wanted to build a new life on the
roots of her old one, on her family’s traditions. This was where she belonged, high up in the Norwegian mountains. She would
put the drama behind her now. She was done with what had happened out there in the big world. Now she was here. And that was
a good thing.
But apparently that wasn’t the case after all. Every time she got her period, the thought of all the blood from that time
came back. The pain. The nausea. The fear. The grief.
And now this. Pia, sitting here in front of her, lost in her own despair and confusion. For a moment, Ingrid was tempted to confide in her, to tell her she knew what it felt like to carry such a secret. Pia had probably heard about the dramatic accident in which the Norwegian-led expedition was involved and a member of the group had lost his life. She’d probably also read about the breakup and all the speculation about why Ingrid had withdrawn from the public eye. This was Ingrid’s chance to shed some light on that.
She reached out to Pia and took her hand in hers. She could tell Pia what had really happened...
But she didn’t. No good would come from it, and it was too late to do anything about it anyway.
In an attempt to hide her own tears, Ingrid wrapped her arms around Pia, who leaned her face against Ingrid’s shoulder.
“What do your parents say?” Ingrid asked, stroking Pia’s hair. She regretted the question as soon as it crossed her lips.
“My parents...”
Ingrid could have slapped herself. Vegard had once told her that Pia’s parents were a bit odd and that she had very little
contact with them.
Pia straightened up and dabbed at her face with another tissue. A small pile of used ones was growing on the coffee table.
“My parents don’t know either,” she said. “I haven’t seen them in years, actually. They’re really conservative and made it
quite clear early on that they don’t approve of the way I live my life. I should’ve married young, like them, and gotten a
‘real job.’ Blogging and social media and the extravagant jet-setter life they think I live aren’t things they can acknowledge.”
She cleared her throat and took a sip of water. “My mom and dad and I haven’t had anything to say to one another for a long
time. The gaps between each time I had the energy to talk to them got longer and longer, and they never called me. So one
day, it was just over. I’d given up, and there was total silence from their end. It didn’t exactly feel natural to drop by
to tell them about the pregnancy. They’re not going to be pleased that their daughter is about to be a single mother.”
“I lost my parents when I was three,” Ingrid said, and Pia looked a bit taken aback. Ingrid herself was surprised at having blurted this out. Why was she saying this? The answer came when she said it out loud: “As long as your parents are alive, you still have the chance to reestablish contact. After all, they are your child’s grandparents.”
There was silence.
Ingrid knew she’d gone too far. “I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s none of my business.”
“It’s okay,” Pia said. “You’re just being honest. And you’re absolutely right. They’re alive, so it’s not too late. But there’s
more, you see. I really don’t know whether I can handle establishing a relationship with them again.”
Pia took yet another tissue and rubbed it between her fingers as she searched for the words. “They’ve... kind of gone down
a rabbit hole. When I was younger, I just thought they were old-fashioned and conservative. But recently, they’ve been getting
more and more influenced by friends and started believing all sorts of conspiracy theories. You know, the kind of thing that
you read about in the newspapers but can’t imagine anyone would actually believe. Chemtrails. Pandemics made up by the government. My father claims that the US government was behind 9/11 and that
the Labour Party is collaborating with Arab countries to turn Europe into an Islamic colony. And my mom supports him. All
of it. The whole package. And they can’t stand being contradicted about any of it because whoever argues against them has
been brainwashed, they say. I honestly don’t know whether that kind of grandparent would be good for a child.”
But maybe better than no grandparents at all , Ingrid thought. But instead, she said, a bit hesitantly, “Maybe it’s for the best that you aren’t in contact with them . . . but do you have anyone else who can help you? Siblings? Friends?”
“My brother is almost as bad as our parents,” Pia sighed. “I mean, I guess he doesn’t really believe their nonsense, but he
manages not to argue with them. I think he’s a coward, and he’s never supported me when we’ve disagreed. He just sort of...
slips away. But he doesn’t spend much time with them anymore, either. I think his wife put her foot down. She can’t stand
all their BS. And who wants in-laws who teach their grandkids to believe such deadly lies?”
Ingrid looked at her watch. Shoot! It was already half past three, and she still had a lot to do.
Pia took the hint and got up from the sofa.
“Should I walk you down to your room?” Ingrid asked.
“No, thanks, it’s okay. I’m doing fine now,” Pia said. “Thank you for listening to me. I don’t really know how to deal with
all of this. But what I really want right now is to be here.”
“And you’re welcome to stay for as long as you want,” Ingrid said with a smile. “On the condition that you promise to let
me know if you need help.”
“Deal!” Pia P said.