The drive to my apartment takes twenty minutes through Solingen's quiet streets, the city settling into its evening rhythm with people heading home from work, couples walking hand in hand toward restaurants, everything so normal it feels foreign to me now.
I park in my usual spot in the underground garage beneath my apartment building, grab my bag from the passenger seat, make my way to the elevator opposite my car. I made sure to get that slot assigned to me to reduce my stress. I step into it and it takes me up to the third floor where I've been living in careful isolation.
My apartment is small but decent, one bedroom with a living area that connects to a kitchen barely big enough for one person to move around comfortably, but it's clean, safe, most importantly it's far away from Russia, from him.
I unlock the door and step inside already thinking about the frozen meal I'll heat up for dinner, the hot shower I'll take, the bed I'll crawl into early.
Then I see it.
Sitting on my kitchen counter is a box, sleek black packaging with a silk ribbon tied around it.
I freeze in the doorway, my keys still dangling from my fingers, my heart suddenly pounding.
No one has a key to my apartment except the building manager.
No one knows my exact address except my family who swore they wouldn't tell anyone where I was.
I close the door behind me slowly, turn the deadbolt with hands that have started shaking, walk toward the table while my eyes stay fixed on the box.
There's a card attached to the ribbon, cream colored paper, with my name written on the front in handwriting I would recognize anywhere.
I pick it up with trembling fingers, open it, and read the words inside.
"I know you already have a car, but since you loved the one you left behind in Russia, I decided you should have the upgraded model here. The keys are in the box. I had it delivered to your building's garage this morning. Spot 3B, right next to where you've been parking that sedan. Consider it a gift. I'm always thinking of you, angel."
I drop the card, step back from the table, and try to steady my breathing.
He knows where I live. He knows where I park. He had access to my apartment. I open the box with shaking hands, find car keys inside, attached to a keychain with a small silver charm in the shape of an angel. Then I see it. At the bottom of the box, beneath the keys, is an envelope. I pick it up, tear it open, and pull out the thick paper folded carefully.
God. It’s times like this I wish I had a friend to tell what is going on in my life.
• • •
LETTER 1
I unfold it, with shaking hands and read.
"My angel, I hope this letter finds you well. I wanted you to know that I've started therapy, just like you wanted. Anger management classes too. I sit in a room with other men twice a week and we talk about our feelings. It's strange, but I'm doing it. For you. For us. I know where you are. Before you panic, I'm not coming to get you. I promised myself I'd give you space, and I meant it. You needed to leave, and I'm learning to accept that. My therapist says acceptance is the first step toward growth. I've also held off on Killing your family. I know you love them, and I'm trying to respect that. I figured you'dwant your father to walk you down the aisle someday, so I'm being considerate. See? I'm being a good boy. Take all the time you need. Months. Years. However long it takes for you to feel safe again. I can wait. I've waited my whole life for you, what's a little longer? I miss you every second of every day, but I understand. You needed to run, and I needed to become someone worth coming back to. I'm working on that. I love you, Iris. Always have, always will.
With all my love, your husband."
I set the letter down on the table, with shaking hands, staring at it like it might come to life.
He found me in less than two months. He's been watching me this entire time.
I fold the letter, and put it in a drawer in my kitchen, I tell myself I should throw it away, But I don't. I don't have the heart.
Please, wake up Tessa.
• • •
FOUR WEEKS LATER - LETTER 2
I come home from work on a Tuesday evening, to find another envelope slipped under my door.
I pick it up with trembling fingers, and pull out the paper inside. Reading it.
My heart
