Chapter 36
Vico
With heavy steps, I enter the estate's library. The envelope in my hand feels weightless, yet it seems to drag my arm downward. It contains the contract that my father must sign today. Even his birthday celebration two days ago failed to bring a smile to his face, so Camilla has finally given up. She has decided that the sale should be expedited, even if it means not fighting for various clauses any longer. Once again, I am the one who must deal with Father.
The thought that soon not even the remnants of our home will exist makes me swallow hard. Hanna's dream for the future of the estate was so beautiful, so captivating that I cannot forget it. My sisters would be overjoyed. And me? No matter how much I wish it were different, no matter how hard I try to suppress it, I feel how much this place means to me and probably always has.
But without Hanna, it all loses its meaning.
And she will leave. Because of Florian. She made that clear to me.
I open the door. My father sits in his leather chair, and in a matter of seconds, I understand that the attempt to bring him back to life even just a little through his birthday celebration has failed miserably.
Nothing can reach him.
Looking at him, memories of the evening two days ago flood my mind.
I left. Just like that. Without saying a word, I ran away. Today, I am ashamed of it, yet I know deep down I would do it all over again. Because I have no other choice.
Regardless of what she may or may not feel for me, Hanna is ill. In the past forty hours, I've researched everything about her epilepsy. Though the illness itself may not cause lasting damage to her body, the consequences can be life-threatening. Even a bath in the tub can kill them.
As soon as I finish the thought, I see myself putting my arms in the water of the bathtub at lightning speed to pull Hanna out. Her body is heavy, her muscles flabby. Drops of water pour over her lifeless face and soak my T-shirt.
My heartbeat gallops, heat rises in me. With all due care, I place her on the mosaic tiles of the bathroom and feel for her carotid artery with shaky fingers.
There is no pulse. Her chest remains motionless.
I can't do this. Just the idea of it kills me.
It's time to pull the ripcord.
That I left was the right decision. However, I should have explained it to her. But how could I have done that without revealing my innermost feelings? I would have had to confess that losing someone who owns my entire heart would shatter me. And she would have known that she alone ignites this longing in me, a longing I cannot control.
A longing that will one day plunge me into the abyss, just like my father, who only now, after I've been standing beside him for minutes, looks up at me.
"Vico," he says in a frail voice. "What is it?"
I swallow hard and hand him the envelope. "The purchase contract."
Suddenly, he seems frozen. "So it's come to this."
I nod. What else should I do? We need to get it over with; there's no other way. Once the estate is sold and Hanna is no longer near me, the struggle between longing and fear in every fiber of my being will cease.
Rustling, Father opens the envelope and takes out the two printed copies of the contract. I dig the pen I brought with me out of my pocket to hand it to my father. He takes it, but I can't let go.
Our fingers, both on the pen, meet each other's gaze for a moment. In his eyes, I see his pain.
"If you could turn back time … what would you do differently?" I hear myself ask suddenly. It's that last glimmer of hope in me that compels me. That small light on the horizon that refuses to fade, no matter how much I try to acknowledge the dark reality. "Would you make different choices?"
He releases the pen. Weary, his hand falls into his lap, and I observe how he gets lost in the abyss of his thoughts.
I clear my throat. "Would you choose to live with Mother again? Now that you know how it will end?" I never thought I would ask him this question one day. For me, his answer has always been clear, as I have seen it in every movement and heard it in every word. It's better never to have loved than to lose love.
He knows that. And at least the part of me that I have under control knows that too. But the other part, the one that places this persistent longing right in the center of my chest, needs to be convinced. Hearing my father speak the truth loud and clear will achieve just that.
"Would you have ever wanted to get to know her better?" I continue with a trembling voice. "Or did you hold on to your heart with all your might?"
His lower lip quivers. At first, just a little, then more and more violently. And suddenly, I see something in his face that I have never seen in my entire life.
A tear forms in the corner of his eye. Without blinking even once, it falls, leaving a glistening trail down his sunken cheek. "My friends claimed her nose was crooked. And her eyes were too big. But to me, she was the most beautiful girl I had ever met," he says, so full of melancholy that my heart clenches. "I was blinded by love, deafened by enthusiasm, and paralyzed by longing."
That's not the answer to my question. It's a declaration of love that reminds me all too vividly of what I feel for Hanna. I'm about to repeat my question, but he raises his hand to silence me.
"Any attempt to keep me away from her would have failed." A wistful smile flits across his face. "She was the love of my life."
My God, I know that already. Not for nothing did he bury all his joy of living with her. I sink to my knees before him. "If you could undo everything, the good and the bad times, would you do it?" I plead. I have to hear it from him. I have to hear how much he regrets giving in to his feelings.
But instead of answering me, he shrugs slightly. Then he reaches for the pen. "She was the love of my life," he repeats.
Is that a yes? Is he telling me that despite his grief, he wouldn't want to miss the time with my mother? Can that be serious, or has he lost his mind?
I need to stop interpreting his words in a way that suits me. He hasn't answered me, so I have to find my own. That's the only thing I can say for sure.
Dejectedly, I hand him the pen. "On each page, bottom right, and all the way at the end under the line where your name is." I sound a bit like a robot as I relay the instructions from the lawyer. But I have no choice if I want to keep my emotional turmoil in check.
He signs one page after another in the first contract without even looking at the clauses. It takes what feels like an eternity for him to reach the last page. He puts the pen down and traces the line of his name. Immediately after, he breaks into a piercing sob, a torrent of tears that should actually provide me with every answer I still need.