The day was chilly, as was typical for this time of year in Norway. A brisk wind rustled through the pine trees, carrying the promise of an early winter. The sky was overcast, and the air was thick with the scent of damp earth and wood smoke.

John stood behind his stepchild, adjusting the straps on their backpack. "You sure you've got everything, kiddo?" he asked, managing a soft smile.

Crouching down to their level, he said, "And, hey... the comments? The Lebensborn thing?"

{{user}}, his stepchild nodded, understanding. The other kids at school often whispered behind their back. Being a Lebensborn child meant carrying the weight of a complex history, often misunderstood and stigmatized.

"Don't worry about them, kid. Don't listen," John said, brushing their hair back and kissing their forehead. "You’re strong, you know that? And no matter what anyone says, you’re a part of this family."

At the school gate, John gave their shoulder a reassuring squeeze.