the infinite

After three years I found the strength to write again. I always felt like I was missing something. I'm not complete if I don't write. It's not me. It was a time when I got stuck. I had no idea, I was naked. But today, I decided to put my soul on the tray. This is a story about love, lies and betrayal. Cliseic, right? If those who read this book know me well enough, they will know that I do not write anything cliché. I write what I feel. I write what I live for. And I have lived in these three years the disappointment of my life.

Today I decided to tell a story whose ending was not happy, but that does not mean that I cannot change its ending. Just as Eminescu changed the ending of the fairy tale that inspired him for Luceafarul, so will I change a tragic ending, because everyone deserves to be happy right? Through this book I will prove that we make our own destiny. We just have to believe in ourselves, stand up and move on, even if our soul is bleeding. Do not read this book with pleasure, read it to push your limits, to accept painful truths and to learn to fight. The truth? The truth is hard to explain. He cannot be fully understood even after you see him with your own eyes. It can only be assumed. But is that all? The night that changed my life, was it just a guess? Is that just half the truth? Is it an uncertainty? I'll probably never find out. And I probably shouldn't think about it anymore.

I glance at my desk clock. It's 9 p.m. My last patient had left an hour ago, but I lingered in the office, trapped in my gloomy thoughts. Will I ever be able to forget the night he drove into the pole? Will I be able to forget the smell of fuel mixed with blood? Will I be able to forget the lifeless eyes that were fixed on me? The scream that had come out of my lips then, will I stop hearing it? Will I still be able to ignore the pain in my abdomen? Most likely, the answer to all these questions is no.

I finally decide to put an end to all my thoughts and get up from my desk. I take my bag and coat and go out. But my gaze fell on the frame framed and hanging on the wall. Luise Martin- psychologist. After the accident, I always wondered why I chose to be a psychologist. What's the point of getting into people's minds if you can't help them? Maybe if I had helped him ...

- Luise, see you tomorrow?

I look at Berta, my colleague, and force myself to smile.

-Of course. Have a nice evening, I say slightly absent.

"So do you, my dear, and wish me well and follow her until she enters the elevator, and the doors close behind her."

I'm left alone with my mind again. I shake my head and head for the elevator. I walk out of the building, and my heels are swaying. It's a warm spring evening, and the 9th arrondissement is quiet. I'm heading for the car parked at the end of the street when I hear footsteps behind me. My heart rushes and I argue in my mind, because I tend to panic again. Luise, you're not the only one walking down the street!

Suddenly, I feel like someone is bumping into me and I'm unbalanced. I fall to my knees and rub my palms.

-What the hell! I exclaimed indignantly and looked back.

A tall man in a navy suit is reaching out to help me up. I think he's about 30 or so. His blue eyes stare at me as I finally look at him. I'm waiting for an "excuse" because he came across me, but it's too late. I fold my arms across my chest and frown at him.

- You know, you should be more careful where you go ...

- I'm sorry, I was in a hurry and I didn't see you.

I snorted nervously. Hadn't he seen me? Was I that small?

"Yes, as you say," I say sour.

I turn on my heel, turn my back on him, and move on. He comes after me and grabs my arm. This time when I return, the light of a lantern falls on his face and I remain like crazy. Well-defined jaw, full lips and those terribly blue eyes. I had seen him somewhere before, but I couldn't figure out where.

"Seriously, miss, I didn't mean to hurt you." Let me see your palms.

He takes my hands in his and inspects them carefully. I frown even harder trying to figure out where I know him.

"Please put some ice when you get home," he tells me in a gentler tone.

"Do I know you from somewhere?" I ask without thinking twice.

A twinkle flashed across his eyes and he smiled.

"I don't think so, miss." I would have remembered if I had seen you before.

Something in his attitude makes me not believe him.

"All right, then, thank you for the advice," I say, and this time I even turn around and leave, feeling his gaze fixed on me.

I shook my head, trying to get the feeling that I knew him from somewhere. All the way home I tried to get this scene out of my head, making sure my imagination was playing tricks again. After the accident and the blow to the head, over the years I have often had the feeling that I am being followed or worse, that I am not alone in the house. That's why I set up two rows of locks three years ago. I still can't explain why I'm constantly scared. As a psychologist I tried to find a logical explanation in books. Unfortunately, I did not find anything to justify my panic attacks and the feeling that I was being followed. Most of the explanations revolved around post-traumatic shock, but even so, they didn't satisfy me. I have a constant anxiety and if I forget to take my pills most of the time I end up seeing people or things that didn't really exist. Even after the accident five years ago, I wanted to go to a psychiatric clinic because I was constantly seeing a shadow. After an examination, I was given some pills and told that I could not be hospitalized because I had no clear symptoms of schizophrenia and that I was most likely left with trauma from the accident. Again, I was not satisfied with the explanation. I felt then, I feel now, something is wrong with me. And yes, maybe it's because of the blow to the head or the fact that we lost two loved ones that night. Whichever way it was, I knew I wasn't okay. I knew that night he had left a huge void in me and that nothing would ever be able to fill it.

I park the car in front of the building and go up the stairs to the apartment. My apartment was left behind by his death. We had bought it together, but only one of us was left to enjoy a beautiful view of the Eiffel Tower. I open the door and enter the house. I get cold air, and when I turn on the light I realize I left the balcony door open. I don't remember leaving it open. However, this is not the first time I have done such nonsense. A lot had changed since the accident. I had changed a lot.

I toss my bag on the couch and take off my high-heeled shoes, slamming them on the floor. I go into the kitchen to prepare some food, as my stomach had begun to protest. I take a salad out of the fridge and some cherry tomatoes and throw them in the sink. After I wash them, I put them on the table, but I drop them on the floor. My legs start to shake when I notice a white envelope on one corner of the table. I walk slowly towards him and take him in my hand, trying not to get rid of him because of the convulsive tremor. My name is nicely written on one side of the envelope. There is no sender or address. I slowly peel off the tape and put my hand in the envelope. I don't realize what I got my hands on until I bring the contents to light. When my gaze meets the first photo of the fetus in the womb, I drop the ultrasounds on the floor and start screaming. The camera starts spinning with me and tears streaming down my cheeks. I stare at the small white spot that changed my life five years ago, and my uterus begins to contract painfully. I didn't get to hold her ...