Swiftly, I rise, accidentally knocking my kneeagainst the coffee table. A sharp pain shoots through me, all the way to my toes. "I have to go," I stutter, far less convincingly than I would like to. I don't allow myself to look at him. Before he can reply, I turn around and limp away.
I run away. Because it's the only thing I can truly do in life.
***
My escape doesn't work this time.
Even as we embark on our journey to Stockholm the next day, Josh's words echo in my mind. I push them away as best I can, playing our airplane game with Sophia and studying the travel guide. But when we are picked up at the airport by the inconspicuous black clinic van, and the little princess rests her head on my shoulder in a half-asleep state, it all comes flooding back.
Lost in thought, I watch as the green forests outside the city gates pass us by. The sky is streaked with wisps of thin fog, occasionally revealing the dark blue of a lake. Overnight, my knee has swollen. It hurts, and if I put too much pressure on it, I can feel my heartbeat down there. Just like back then, when I fell from the stage during our Christmas performance.
Everyone falls sometimes—that's what my father told me back then as he dried the tears on my cheek with his warm hands. It's not a big deal at all.
Vigorously, I massage my temples to banish the thoughts.
I don't want to go back there. Not now. Not here. Yet I notice how effortlessly the memories take hold ofme and carry me away to a time when my life was still in order. And suddenly, I find myself sitting on the floor behind the stage once again. Surrounded by emerald green props and plastic snowflakes.
I'm in a place where no one can find me. No one except him. He is right by my side, giving me support and warmth.
"Everyone saw it. How embarrassing is that?" Heat rises within me as I think about how it must have looked. As if I couldn't even walk straight.
He pulls me into his arms, completely unconcerned about me smearing his sweater with theater makeup. His heartbeat is calm. "You'll do better at your next performance. And soon, no one will remember what happened today."
I look up at him through the veil of tears, though I can't see much of his face. Just his loving smile. "Really?"
"You know it, Maya." He kisses my forehead. "All the happiness in the world resides within you alone," he reminds me, then he rocks me back and forth as if I were still his little girl unable to fall asleep. "Inside you lives the heart of a fighter."
In search of stability, I bury my face in his woolen sweater. I smell the Christmassy scent of mulled wine and feel the rise and fall of his chest. Like an addict, I absorb everything I can from him. "I know."
Suddenly, he releases one arm from my back and pulls something out of his pocket. "This is for you," he says, presenting me with a golden music box.
Curiously, I examine the colorful ornaments on its surface. "What is this?" I would love to take the box into my hands immediately, but he signals for me tojust open my hand for now. Hastily wiping the last tears from the corners of my eyes, I follow his instruction. With utmost care, he places the music box on my palm, ensuring that my fingers close around it, and finally, he places his hand on top of mine.
"Whenever you're sad. And whenever I'm not with you..." He swallows hard.
Why is he saying this? Why would he suddenly not be there anymore?
He must recognize the questions in my expression, but instead of answering me, he simply shakes his head gently.
"Whenever you lose your way. And whenever you don't know what to do next." He pauses for a moment, then looks deeply into my eyes. "Open this music box. Listen to the melody. And remember you are the greatest miracle of all."
Unable to say anything, I lower my gaze to our hands. There, beneath his fingers, lie mine. And underneath them rests the beautiful box. I'm sure it's a treasure. The most important gift of my life.
He squeezes me tightly once more. "No matter what happens, believe in yourself. Because I always will."
Back then, behind the stage of the Christmas performance, on the cold floor with theater makeup on my face, I believed every word he said. I was a fighter.
His fighter.
But I'm not anymore. Today, all of that is nothing more than a memory from a long-gone time. Faded like the misty fields above the treetops of the Swedish forests that continue to pass me by.
No matter what happens, believe in yourself. Because Ialways will. His words blend with what Josh told me yesterday. Not a trace of uncertainty in his eyes, not a single hesitation in his voice.
I know you can do it, Josh whispers again in his honey-warm tone in my thoughts. How I wish I could believe him and still make my dream come true.
Sneakily, I glance over at him. With closed eyes and headphones in his ears, he sits at the other end of the back seat. His chiseled jaw is relaxed, and a dreamy smile graces his lips.
He looks so content. As if he's not on the verge of that one operation that will determine the rest of his life. As if he's not here, but in his own world.
In a way, he's a bit like me. When things get tough, he escapes. But while I keep running until my legs protest, he does the opposite. Wherever he is in his thoughts right now, he's gathering strength to come back stronger than ever.
What if I can do the same? What if I can turn around and go all the way back? Does it solely depend on wholeheartedly deciding and believing in myself?
I bite my lip and lower my gaze. To quickly forget the spark of hope that just ignited within me. And to avoid losing myself even more in his gaze.
