Returning home, I slowly open the door with my key. Already knowing that no one is there, I am not surprised that the apartment is empty — as if the breath of the house becomes quieter, colder, emptier, hanging in the air. Everything is in its place, except for Mary's and Rebel Girl's things, just like themselves. As if with them a part of my world flies away, leaving only silence and a faint feeling of emptiness behind.
Checking the rooms, I make sure they really have left. The silence in every room presses on me, as if the echo of their absence reflects off the walls, reminding me that now I am alone.
On the bed lies a note. I sit down, feeling my heart tighten with anxiety and uncertainty, and I begin to read her words. Every line resonates somewhere deep inside me — with hope, pain, and something that still holds us together despite everything: love.
"Dear Maxim,
After tonight I finally understand: you are not ready to give me even a single chance to fix the past and walk into the future together. It hurts to realize this, but it seems you have already decided everything for yourself. Maybe much earlier than I realized.
I held on for a long time to hope, to memories, to the rare moments of warmth between us — but now I see: they have become the exception, not the rule.
No, I am not leaving you as I did last time. Then I was driven by fear, confusion, the desire to save you and your future from the burdens I could bring. Now it is different. I am not running — I am staying. And I do not plan to leave in the future. We are just moving to grandmother's. You know the address. We will be there. This is not an escape. This is an attempt to create at least a little stability, comfort, and silence for Mary. She needs an atmosphere where she can grow up feeling loved, where there is no constant tension in the air.
I do not want Mary to live in an atmosphere of tension, shouting, and resentment, where I myself lose the strength to be a real, loving mother for her. She is already starting to feel it and notices when I hold back tears, when you turn away without saying a word. Our daughter is still very small, but she already feels it. And Mary is the most important thing we have. For her sake I must be honest — first of all with myself.
If you or your mother want to see Mary, visit her or take her for the night — I will only be glad. I have no right to deprive her of love and attention from her father or grandmother. She deserves the very best. And if you truly want to be near — you can always be near. Not with me, but with her. I will not stand in the way. On the contrary, I will try to support you if you decide to be part of her life not in words, but in action.
As for us… I am no longer sure we are able to be together. I think it is more honest and wiser to admit: right now we only bring each other pain.
I say this not in resentment, but with the sad realization that love is not only feelings, but also choice. We both know we grew up in environments of quarrels and misunderstandings. And we both promised ourselves never to repeat our parents' fate. But that is exactly where we have ended up — with reproaches, silence louder than shouting, and glances from which we want to turn away. Yet it all began so differently… Somewhere along the way we lost it. Or we simply stopped fighting.
For a long time I believed we could return at least a part of what we had. But it seems my effort alone is not enough. If it is hard for you to be with me, if you still cannot forgive — I cannot force you to suffer further. This is not love if it causes so much pain. Love should heal, warm, support. Not be a battlefield where no one wins.
I love you. I always have and still do. But maybe my love is no longer enough to heal the wounds I caused. I understand that, leaving back then, I caused you deep pain. I thought it would be a relief, a chance for you to start fresh. But I was wrong. And I am very sorry. Sorry that between us so much remains unsaid, so much un-lived together. Sorry that we forgot how to listen, how to truly look at each other. As if we were always waiting — for forgiveness, for the first step, for explanations. And we never received them.
We cannot go on like this. Now we have Mary. She should not go through what we went through.
If we cannot overcome the past — let us not torture each other further. Let us let go. Part in peace. Without resentment. But I am very grateful for all our bright moments. I do not want to erase them. I just want them to stay with us — as warm, even if sad, memories, but without guilt and anger.
I do not ask you to answer right away. Think. When you are ready — call or write. We can talk in person. Discuss how to live further — in a way that does not interfere, does not destroy. So that Mary has both a mother and a father. Not together — but near.
Whatever you decide — I will accept your decision.
Yours, Rebel Girl."
This letter turns me upside down. As if someone forcefully throws me off the pedestal of my righteous anger and makes me look into the mirror. Sharply, without warning, almost cruelly. I see myself — not a hero, not a fighter for truth, not a man who believes he stands for justice, but an embittered, tired man, dried up inside, who is losing what is dearest to him, and instead of holding it, saving it, keeping it — starts to take revenge. To take revenge for his pain, for his helplessness, for his fear.
I acted wrongly. Absolutely. Blindly, groping, like a man lost in the darkness of his own anger. Instead of hugging her tightly, as if for the last time, pressing her close and saying how much I had missed her, how everything inside me ached without her — I began to hurt her. Not because I wanted to. Not because I was cruel. But because I did not know how else to deal with what had built up through all those years — resentment, disappointment, longing. I thought I had the right to pour all that pain on her, as if Katrin were its source, its cause, its culprit. But… what difference did it make now, what I had felt those three and a half years? What does it matter now, how I suffer, when Rebel Girl stands in front of me — alive, real, vulnerable. The one I know, and still love. Love even now.
All it would have taken was to reach out my hand. Just — a step. One. Not a step of pride or reproach, but a step of the heart. And maybe she would have been with me again. Maybe we would have started over. But no. I chose anger. I allowed my pain to speak for me. I decided to show how Katrin had broken me. To turn my wound into a weapon. To display my pain as reproach, as revenge. As if I wanted her to feel my suffering, to live it again. As if that could have changed anything. As if it could have eased the weight inside me… But it was an illusion. A lie.
Not only did I gain nothing — only emptiness eating me from within — but I also added to her pain. As if she hadn't had enough already. As if my Rebel Girl hadn't suffered all this time. As if her leaving had been an easy choice. Yet she had lived all this time with the burden I had so generously left on her shoulders — invisible, but heavy, like a stone lodged in her chest.
Why had I been so blinded by myself? By my wounds, my resentment, my pride? Why had I not thought of what it had been like for her? She had also lived without me. With thoughts. With regret. With memory. With nights when, perhaps, she remembered our talks, our laughter, our quarrels. Remembered me.
And in that moment when she returned, stood before me, soul bare, defenseless — I… I hurt her again. A second time. Consciously. With words, with a glance, with silence — it didn't matter. What mattered was that I wounded her again.
Ignoring her feelings, I decided I had the right to drag her into my new life. Without asking, without permission, as if it were natural, as if Rebel Girl were obliged to walk that path with me. I clung to the illusion that if she had come, it meant she was ready to be beside me again, to be part of who I had become. I didn't think about how much doubt, pain, fear she might still carry. I just took her and pulled her into my present — a present full of unfinished stories, unhealed wounds, unanswered questions. As if she were the key and I the lock she had to fit.
I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought that if I opened the doors of my new reality to her, showed her who I had become, where I lived, what I breathed — she would understand. Forgive. Return. But I never thought that this new world might terrify her, a world in which no place had been left for her. A world where I didn't ask, "Do you want to go there?" — but simply said, "Come."
I don't know how to fix this now. I feel everything inside me breaking apart. But Katrin is right — I need to sit down, exhale, calm down. Stop. Think everything through. Not act impulsively, not react with emotions, not try to prove something. But truly feel what I have done. Who I have become. Who I have become for her. And who I want to be now.
Several days passed. Long, sleepless ones. I didn't sleep. I replayed everything in my head: our conversations, her tears, her gaze — broken, yet still warm, with that spark I remembered.
I realize I cannot just let her go. I cannot say, "Well, that's it," and turn away. My desire to win back my Rebel Girl only grows stronger. But now it doesn't come from pain. Not from guilt, but from love. Pure, deep, and real. I don't want to "take" her back. I don't want to possess her — I want to be by her side. If she allows me. Just be. Anew, without guilt, without reproach, without the past suffocating us. I am ready to go to her. To leave at night, in the rain, in any weather. Not only to atone for my guilt, but to start again. From a clean slate. If she still gives me a chance. If her heart hasn't closed forever.
But I want to do it as soon as possible. The impatience pressing my chest doesn't let me go for even a second. Thoughts keep spinning in my head, my heart beats faster and faster, urging me forward, as if time itself is about to slip away.
I take the car and drive to her town. This time I know the road well and I don't need to call Vi to find the right place. Before, I was rushing, confused, anxious — but now I am certain of the way, as if inwardly I also understand more clearly where I am going and why.
Since today I have classes at the university , I leave already long after noon. I arrive at their house when the sun is almost setting. The sky fills with soft golden and pink shades, everything around seems to pause in anticipation. Warm light falls on rooftops, trees, and roads — making the moment feel almost unreal.
Stopping near the house, I sit in the car, trying to calm my heart and think through once more what I want to say to her. My palms are damp, my breathing uneven. The words that sounded clear in my head earlier now get tangled and slip away. I know I cannot lose this chance. It is important. Perhaps the most important thing I've ever had in my life and in our relationship.
When I see Katrin herself come out to me, my heart suddenly beats faster, as if a fire ignites in my chest. I run to her, feeling a wave of warmth and joy spreading inside me. Without thinking, without hesitation, I surrender to the feeling — this sudden impulse that fills my entire being. Hugging her, I lift my little one and spin her in the air, feeling lightness and happiness in every movement. The wind gently touches her hair, playing with it, and her laughter freezes on her lips like a wonderful melody I want to remember forever. My Rebel Girl is shocked by my behavior — her eyes widen, reflecting the light of sincere amazement, but there is no fear in them, only pure surprise and warm admiration for the moment. In this instant, tenderness hangs between us, filled with unspoken words and deep feelings.
"Hello, my love. Forgive me for my bad behavior," I tell her, setting her down on the ground but not letting go of my embrace.
I feel my hands trembling, my throat tightening from guilt, hope, and endless tenderness. In this moment, the whole world narrows to one thing — to her, to the warmth of her body, and to the fact that she is still here. And to the hope that I can make everything right.