My controlling MIL became unbearable after I gave birth, but I hit my limit when she stole the family dog, claiming it was a threat to the baby. I gave my husband an ultimatum that shattered family ties, but a bittersweet reunion years later healed us.
There’s a kind of quiet that only happens when a baby sleeps. I sat on the sofa, cradling my coffee cup while Bear, our Newfoundland, sprawled across the rug beside the bassinet.
A dog lying on a rug | Source: Midjourney
Bear had been my shadow for five years, ever since my husband brought him home as an anniversary gift for me. Now, he’d just expanded his watchlist to include our newborn, Sophie.
Sophie stirred in the crib, her tiny fist punching the air. I sighed, setting my cup down and crossing the room.
“Hang on, sweet pea,” I murmured, peeking over the crib’s edge.
Bear nudged my leg, and I couldn’t help but laugh as I realized he’d brought me Sophie’s burp cloth from the sofa.
A dog carrying a cloth in its mouth | Source: Midjourney
“Okay, clever boy,” I said, holding the drool-soaked burp cloth at arm’s length. “We’ve got to get your drool situation under control before she starts crawling. Deal?”
His tail wagged, and I swear it was a yes.
And then, like a sudden thundercloud, the front door opened. The sound of heels on hardwood made my stomach clench. I didn’t even have to look up.
A woman wearing high-heeled shoes walking on a hardwood floor | Source: Midjourney
Karen breezed into the room, her eyes immediately locking onto Bear and the drool-soaked burp cloth in my hand. Karen’s expression twisted in distaste.
“You’re letting that thing slobber all over the baby’s things?” she said, gesturing wildly. “That’s unsanitary! At least put the dog outside.”
“Bear’s fine,” I said evenly, crossing to the laundry basket to grab a clean burp cloth. “He’s not hurting anyone.”
A laundry hamper | Source: Pexels
Karen sniffed, her gaze sweeping the room like a TSA agent at an airport. “A big dog like that doesn’t belong anywhere near a baby. You think it’s cute now, but wait until he gets between you and the baby. You don’t know what he’s capable of.”
That one hit harder than I expected. My chest tightened, but I forced a laugh. “Bear? Dangerous? He’s a giant marshmallow.”
“Exactly,” Karen said, crossing her arms. “He’s too big. You don’t understand how dangerous dogs can be — it only takes one second for something to go wrong.”
A woman standing with her arms crossed | Source: Midjourney
The door opened again, and thank God, my husband, Tom, walked in, shrugging off his coat.
“Hey, everyone,” he said, his grin fading slightly as he took in the scene. “What’s going on?”
Karen turned to him with the air of a woman making a dramatic announcement. “We were just discussing the dog. He needs to go, Tom. It’s only a matter of time before he harms the baby.”
“Mom,” Tom interrupted, holding up his hands. “The worst Bear’s gonna do is slobber Sophie to death.”
A man smiling while holding out his hands | Source: Midjourney
Karen muttered something under her breath and started rearranging the baby things. She loudly criticized the state of our home and tried to snatch Sophie out of my arms when I started burping her after her feed.
“That’s not how you burp a baby!” She cried.
Bear let out a low woof, and Karen dramatically retreated from him.
“See? I told you he was dangerous. Put the dog outside right now, or better yet, get rid of him!”
A woman pointing at a big dog | Source: Midjourney
This carried on for two weeks! Karen called or showed up unannounced every day, and every day, she fired off criticism like an army sniper. It was driving me crazy. And every time I mentioned it to Tom, he brushed it off.
“She’s just being protective,” he’d say. “Her heart’s in the right place.”
But today, Karen was back, and the tension in the house could’ve snapped like a rubber band. She glared at Bear in his usual spot, then did something completely out of bounds.
Close up of a mature woman glaring fiercely at something | Source: Midjourney
She marched over to Bear, grabbed his collar, and yanked on it. “You’re going outside right now!”
Bear dug his heels in and growled low in his throat.
“Let him be! He won’t allow you to take him away from Sophie.”
“He’s far too possessive,” she hissed, her voice like nails on a chalkboard. “It’s dangerous.”
“Bear is protecting her,” I snapped, my voice sharper than I intended. “You’re the one antagonizing him, Karen.”
A woman speaking angrily to someone | Source: Midjourney
“Enough!” Her tone dripped with authority, like she was addressing a rebellious teenager. “I’m only thinking of Sophie’s safety. You’ll thank me one day.”
When she finally left, I stood on the porch, clutching Sophie to my chest while Bear sat at my feet. I watched Karen’s car disappear down the street and sighed.
“Guess we’ll have to talk to Dad about Grandma, huh?” I murmured to Sophie.
I carried Sophie inside and set her down for a nap.
A sleeping baby | Source: Pexels
Bear settled beside her crib like usual, his head resting on his paws. I ruffled his fur and whispered, “Good boy,” before heading to the kitchen to start dinner.
An hour later, Tom came home. He kissed me on the cheek, kicked off his shoes, and headed straight for Sophie’s room.
A moment later, his voice called out, tense and confused. “Where’s Bear?”
I frowned, wiping my hands on a dish towel. “What do you mean? He’s with Sophie.”
“No, he’s not. He’s — he’s gone.”
A woman glancing worriedly over her shoulder | Source: Midjourney
The words knocked the air out of me. I rushed to Sophie’s room, my stomach twisting with dread. The sight of Bear’s empty spot beside her crib sent my heart plummeting.
“Maybe he’s in the backyard,” Tom suggested, already heading for the sliding door.
We searched the entire house, calling Bear’s name until our voices cracked, but he wasn’t there.
An open-plan home interior | Source: Pexels
Tom went out to search the neighborhood while I dialed every animal shelter in town, stumbling over my words as I described Bear. Nobody had seen him.
When Tom returned, his face was pale and drawn. He took one look at me and sank onto the sofa.
“First thing tomorrow, we’ll print posters and hang them up around town,” he said.
I stayed up long after Tom went to bed, pacing the living room.
A woman pacing her living room | Source: Midjourney
My thoughts raced, darting between every awful possibility. And then, like a thunderclap, the thought struck me: Karen.
It made sense except for one detail: how? I’d watched her leave. There was no way she could have taken him without me seeing. And could she really stoop so low? Could anyone?
I wanted to wake Tom, but the words felt too damning to speak. So I stayed silent, the fear and suspicion curling around me like a storm cloud.
A woman realizing something | Source: Midjourney
Karen showed up unannounced the next morning, as she often did. My stomach twisted as I opened the door and saw her standing there with her polished smile. I immediately told her about Bear and asked if she’d watch Sophie while we put up posters.
“Of course, I’ll watch Sophie! And don’t worry so much about the dog. It’s probably for the best, dear,” she said breezily.
Her words hit me like a slap, but I forced myself to stay calm.
“We’ll be back soon,” I said, grabbing my coat.
A coat and bag hanging on a rack | Source: Pexels
As Tom and I drove through the neighborhood, stapling posters to light poles and taping them to storefront windows, Karen’s words echoed in my mind. “It’s for the best.” What did she mean by that? Did she know something?
When we got home, Karen was in the rocking chair, humming softly as Sophie slept in her arms. She looked up as we walked in; her smile serene and unbothered. But I couldn’t hold it in any longer.
“Where is he?” I asked, my voice sharp. “What did you do to Bear?”
A woman pointing while yelling at someone | Source: Midjourney
Karen blinked, her face a mask of innocence. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, you do,” I said, my hands balling into fists. “Don’t play dumb, Karen.”
She sighed dramatically and set Sophie down in the crib. “Fine! Yes, I took him. Someone had to think of Sophie’s safety since clearly you won’t. You’re too blinded by your emotions to make the right decisions.”
Tom stepped forward, his voice low. “Mom… please tell me you didn’t.”
A man gasping in shock | Source: Midjourney
Karen’s chin jutted out defiantly. “I did what had to be done. He’s at a shelter now. Somewhere you won’t find him, so you can’t bring him back here to endanger my granddaughter.”
The room spun. I didn’t even realize I was crying until Tom touched my shoulder.
“You had no right,” I whispered, my voice shaking. “He’s part of our family. Sophie loves him. You… you need to get out of my sight, right now, Karen, before I do something I regret.”
A furious woman pointing to a door | Source: Midjourney
For the first time, Karen looked truly shocked. But she straightened her shoulders, collected her bag, and left without another word. The sound of the door slamming echoed through the house, but it didn’t bring any relief. Only silence.
That night, the house was unbearably quiet. Tom sat at the dining table, looking up shelters on his phone. His jaw was tight, and his fingers tapped restlessly against the screen. I stood by the sink, gripping the edge of the counter as anger and heartbreak churned in my chest.
“She’s never going to stop, Tom,” I said, breaking the silence.
A woman staring ahead | Source: Midjourney
My voice trembled with exhaustion, but I forced the words out. “She’s never going to respect me — or us.”
Tom sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I know she went too far this time, but… she’s protective. She thought she was doing the right thing.”
I turned to face him, my eyebrows shooting up in disbelief. “The right thing? She stole Bear! And she’s not protective, she’s controlling. She’s manipulative. And you keep making excuses for her like it’s okay. It’s not.”
“She’s my mom,” he said quietly, as if that excused everything. “She just wants what’s best for Sophie.”
A distressed man sitting at a table | Source: Midjourney
I felt the dam inside me break, and the words spilled out in a rush. “This isn’t just about Bear, Tom. It’s about her always treating me like I’m not good enough. And you; you sit there and let her do it. You play devil’s advocate while she undermines me, over and over again.”
He opened his mouth to respond, but I cut him off, stepping closer. “If you won’t stand up for me and our family, then we’re done. I mean it, Tom. I can’t do this anymore.”
Tom’s eyes widened, and for a moment, he looked like I’d slapped him.
A sorrowful man sitting at a table | Source: Midjourney
“You’re right,” he said softly, his voice thick with regret. “I’ve been an idiot. I thought I was keeping the peace, but all I’ve done is let her poison everything. I’m sorry.”
I stared at him, my arms crossed tightly over my chest. “So, what are you going to do about it?”
He hesitated, but only for a moment. “No more visits. No more calls. I’ll tell her she has one chance to fix this, and unless she tells us where she took Bear, we’re going no-contact.”
I nodded, my throat too tight to speak, and Tom pulled me into his arms. I let myself sink into his embrace, the weight of the past weeks finally starting to lift.
Close up of an emotional woman’s face | Source: Midjourney
Two years later
Karen never told us where she took Bear, so we cut all ties with her and started fresh in a neighboring city.
Sophie had grown into a curious, talkative toddler, and Tom and I were closer than ever. Still, Bear’s loss lingered like a dull ache. His photos hung on the walls, and Sophie would sometimes point to them, asking, “Doggy? Where doggy?”
The grief never really went away. We’d talked about getting another dog, but nothing felt right. Bear wasn’t just a pet; he was family.
A framed photo of a puppy | Source: Midjourney
One crisp fall afternoon, Sophie and I went to the park. Sophie toddled beside me, clutching a bag of breadcrumbs for the ducks. We stopped by the pond, and she giggled as the ducks quacked and flapped their wings.
“Look, Sophie,” I said, pointing to a group of people flying kites nearby.
The colorful shapes danced against the sky, and I smiled, expecting her to squeal with excitement. But when I turned back to her, she was gone.
My heart stopped.
A woman looking behind her fearfully | Source: Midjourney
My eyes darted around the park, and then I saw her close to the edge of the pond, reaching for a waddling duck.
“Sophie!” I screamed, sprinting toward her.
She stumbled, her tiny foot catching on the uneven ground. I realized with a sickening jolt that I wasn’t going to reach her in time.
Before I could process what was happening, a blur of dark fur shot past me, barking loudly. Even in my panic, I recognized that bark immediately.
A large dog running toward a duck pond | Source: Midjourney
The massive dog reached Sophie in seconds, gripping the back of her shirt gently in his teeth and pulling her away from the water’s edge. My breath caught in my throat.
“Bear?” I whispered, my legs giving out beneath me as I fell to my knees. “Oh my God… Bear!”
He turned, his big brown eyes meeting mine, and his tail wagged so hard it sent leaves flying. He bounded toward me, and I wrapped my arms around his neck, sobbing into his fur.
A woman hugging a large dog | Source: Midjourney
Sophie squealed with delight, hugging Bear’s side as he licked her face. His tail thumped against the ground, and I laughed through my tears, unable to believe what I was seeing.
A man and woman came running over, their faces pale with worry.
“Cooper!” the woman called. “Oh, thank God.”
They stopped short when they saw us, their expressions a mix of relief and confusion. Bear licked my cheek, then broke free of my embrace and ran over to them.
“Is that… your dog?” I asked, my voice trembling.
A woman looking up while speaking to someone | Source: Midjourney
The man nodded. “We adopted him from a shelter a couple of years ago.”
My heart twisted painfully. “He used to be my dog, but then…” I broke off as I started sobbing all over again. “Thank you for giving him a home. I can see… he loves you very much. For two years, I’ve worried about what happened to him, but now… now I know he’s okay.”
We exchanged numbers, and they invited us to visit him whenever we wanted. As Bear trotted away with his new family, Sophie waved, her little voice ringing out: “Bye-bye, Doggy!”
A toddler girl waving goodbye | Source: Midjourney
Though it hurt to let him go, I knew he was happy. For the first time in years, I felt a sense of peace. Bear had found his place, and so had we.
At 55, I Got a Ticket to Greece from a Man I Met Online, But I Wasn’t the One Who Arrived — Story of the Day
At 55, I flew to Greece to meet the man I’d fallen for online. But when I knocked on his door, someone else was already there—wearing my name and living my story.
All my life, I had been building a fortress. Brick by brick.
No towers. No knights. Just a microwave that beeped like a heart monitor, kids’ lunchboxes that always smelled like apples, dried-out markers, and sleepless nights.
I raised my daughter alone.
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Her father disappeared when she was three.
“Like the autumn wind blowing off a calendar,” I once said to my best friend Rosemary, “one page gone, no warning.”
I didn’t have time to cry.
There was rent to pay, clothes to wash, and fevers to battle. Some nights, I fell asleep in jeans, with spaghetti on my shirt. But I made it work. No nanny, no child support, no pity.
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And then… my girl grew up.
She married a sweet, freckled guy who called me ma’am and carried her bags like she was glass. Moved to another state. Started a life. She still called every Sunday.
“Hi, Mom! Guess what? I made lasagna without burning it!”
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I smiled every time.
“I’m proud of you, baby.”
Then, one morning, after her honeymoon, I sat in the kitchen holding my chipped mug and looked around. It was so quiet. No one to shout, “Where’s my math book!” No ponytails bouncing through the hallway. No spilled juice to clean.
Just 55-year-old me. And silence.
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Loneliness doesn’t slam into your chest. It slips in through the window, soft like dusk.
You stop cooking authentic meals. You stop buying dresses. You sit with a blanket, watching rom-coms, and think:
“I don’t need grand passion. Just someone to sit next to me. Breathe beside me. That would be enough.”
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And that’s when Rosemary burst into my life again, like a glitter bomb in a church.
“Then sign up for a dating site!” she said one afternoon, stomping into my living room in heels too high for logic.
“Rose, I’m 55. I’d rather bake bread.”
She rolled her eyes and dropped onto my couch.
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“You’ve been baking bread for ten years! Enough already. It’s time you finally baked a man.”
I laughed. “You make it sound like I can sprinkle him with cinnamon and put him in the oven.”
“Honestly, that would be easier than dating at our age,” she muttered, yanking out her laptop. “Come here. We’re doing this.”
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“Let me just find a photo where I don’t look like a saint or a school principal,” I said, scrolling through my camera roll.
“Oh! This one,” she said, holding up a picture from my niece’s wedding. “Soft smile. Shoulder exposed. Elegant but mysterious. Perfect.”
She clicked and scrolled like a professional speed dater.
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“Too much teeth. Too many fish. Why are they always holding fish?” Rosemary mumbled.
Then she froze.
“Wait. Here. Look.”
And there it was:
“Andreas58, Greece.”
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I leaned closer. A quiet smile. A tiny stone house with blue shutters in the background. A garden. Olive trees.
“Looks like he smells like olives and calm mornings,” I said.
“Ooooh,” Rosemary grinned. “And he messaged you FIRST!”
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“He did?”
She clicked. His messages were short. No emojis. No exclamation marks. But warm. Grounded. Real. He told me about his garden, the sea, baking fresh bread with rosemary, and collecting salt from the rocks.
And on the third day… he wrote:
“I’d love to invite you to visit me, Martha. Here, in Paros.”
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I just stared at the screen. My heart thudded like it hadn’t in years.
Am I still alive if I’m afraid of romance again? Could I really leave my little fortress? For an olive man?
I needed Rosemary. So I called her.
“Dinner tonight. Bring pizza. And whatever that fearless energy of yours is made of.”
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***
“This is karma!” Rosemary shouted. “I’ve been digging through dating sites for six months like an archaeologist with a shovel, and you—bam!—you’ve got a ticket to Greece already!”
“It’s not a ticket. It’s just a message.”
“From a Greek man. Who owns olive trees. That’s basically a Nicholas Sparks novel in sandals.”
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“Rosemary, I can’t just run off like that. This isn’t a trip to IKEA. This is a man. In a foreign country. He might be a bot from Pinterest, for all I know.”
Rosemary rolled her eyes. “Let’s be smart about this. Ask him for pictures—of his garden, the view from his house, I don’t care. If he’s fake, it’ll show.”
“And if he’s not?”
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“Then you pack your swimsuit and fly.”
I laughed, but wrote to him. He replied within the hour. The photos came in like a soft breeze.
The first showed a crooked stone path lined with lavender. The second—a little donkey with sleepy eyes standing. The third—a whitewashed house with blue shutters and a faded green chair.
And then… a final photo. A plane ticket. My name on it. Flight in four days.
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I stared at the screen like it was a magic trick. I blinked twice. Still there.
“Is this happening? Is this actually… real?”
“Let me see! Oh, God! Of course, real, silly! Pack your bags,” Rosemary exclaimed.
“Nope. Nope. I’m not going. At my age? Flying into the arms of a stranger? This is how people end up in documentaries!”
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Rosemary didn’t say anything at first. Just kept chewing her pizza.
Then she sighed. “Okay. I get it. It’s a lot.”
I nodded, hugging my arms around myself.
***
That night, after she left, I was curled on the couch under my favorite blanket when my phone buzzed.
Text from Rosemary: “Imagine! I got an invitation too! Flying to my Jean in Bordeaux. Yay!”
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“Jean?” I frowned. “She never even mentioned a Jean.”
I stared at the message for a long time.
Then, I got up, walked to my desk, and opened the dating site. I had an irresistible desire to write to him, to thank him and accept his proposition. But the screen was empty.
His profile—gone. Our messages—gone. Everything—gone.
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He must’ve removed his account. Probably thought I ghosted him. But I still had the address. He had sent it in one of the early messages. I’d scribbled it on the back of a grocery receipt.
Moreover, I had the photo. And the plane ticket.
If not now, then when? If not me—then who?
I walked to the kitchen, poured a cup of tea, and whispered into the night,
“Screw it. I’m going to Greece.”
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***
As I stepped off the ferry in Paros, the sun hit me like a soft, warm slap.
The air smelled different. Not like home. There, it was saltier. Wilder. I pulled my little suitcase behind me—it thumped like a stubborn child refusing to be dragged through adventure.
Past sleepy cats stretched on windowsills like they’d ruled the island for centuries. Past grandmothers in black scarves were sweeping their doorsteps.
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I followed the blue dot on my phone screen. My heart pounded like it hadn’t in years.
What if he’s not there? What if it’s all a weird dream, and I’m standing in front of a stranger’s house in Greece?
I paused at the gate. Deep breath. Shoulders back. My fingers hovered over the bell. Ding. The door creaked open.
Wait… What?! No way! Rosemary!
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Barefoot. Wearing a flowing white dress. Her lipstick was fresh. Her hair was curled into soft waves. She looked like a yogurt commercial came to life.
“Rosemary? Weren’t you supposed to be in France?”
She tilted her head like a curious cat.
“Hello,” she purred. “You came? Oh, darling, that’s so unlike you! You said you weren’t flying. So I decided… to take the chance.”
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“You’re pretending to be me?”
“Technically, I created your account. Taught you everything. You were my… project. I just went to the final presentation.”
“But… how? Andreas’s account disappeared. And the messages, too.”
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“Oh, I saved the address, deleted your messages, and removed Andreas from your friends. Just in case you changed your mind. I didn’t know you knew how to save photos or the ticket.”
I wanted to scream. To cry. To slam the suitcase down and yell. But I didn’t. Just then, another shadow moved toward the door.
Andreas…
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“Hi, ladies.” He looked from me to her.
Rosemary immediately latched onto him, grabbing his arm.
“This is my friend Rosemary. She just happened to come. We told you about her, remember?”
“I came because of your invitation. But…”
He looked at me. His eyes were dark like the sea waves.
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“Well… that’s strange. Martha already arrived earlier, but…”
“I’m Martha!” I blurted.
Rosemary chirped sweetly.
“Oh, Andreas, my friend just got a bit anxious about me leaving. She always babysat me. So she must’ve flown here to check if everything’s fine—and you’re not a scammer.”
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Andreas was clearly charmed by Rosemary. He laughed at her antics.
“Alright then… Stay. You can figure things out. We’ve got enough room here.”
Whatever magic was supposed to be there—it had been hijacked…
My friend was playing against me. But I had a chance to stay and set things straight. Andreas deserved the truth, even if it wasn’t as sparkling as Rosemary.
“I’ll stay,” I smiled, accepting the rules of Rosemary’s game.
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***
Dinner was delicious, the view was perfect, and the mood—tight, like Rosemary’s silk blouse after a croissant.
She was all smiles and giggles, filling the air with her voice like perfume with nowhere else to go.
“Andreas, do you have any grandkids?” Rosemary purred.
Finally! There it was. My chance.
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I set down my fork slowly, looked up with the calmest face I could manage, and said, “Didn’t he tell you he has a grandson named Richard?”
Rosemary’s face flickered, just for a second. Then she lit up.
“Oh, right! Your… Richard!”
I smiled politely.
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“Oh, Andreas,” I added, looking straight at him, “but you don’t have a grandson. It’s a granddaughter. Rosie. She wears pink hair ties and loves drawing cats on the walls. And her favorite donkey—what’s his name again? Oh, that’s right. ‘Professor.'”
The table went quiet. Andreas turned to look at Rosemary. She froze, then let out a nervous chuckle.
“Andreas,” she said softly, trying to sound playful, “I think Rosemary is joking strangely. You know my memory…”
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Her hand reached for her glass, and I noticed it trembled.
Mistake one. But I am not done.
“And Andreas, don’t you share the same hobby as Martha? It’s so sweet how you both enjoy the same things.”
Rosemary frowned for a moment… then lit up. “Oh yes! Antique shops! Andreas, that’s wonderful. What was your latest find? I bet this island has tons of little treasures!”
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Andreas set down his fork.
“There are no antique shops here. And I’m not into antiques.”
Mistake number two. Rosemary is on the hook now. I continue.
“Of course, Andreas. You restore old furniture. You told me the last thing you made was a beautiful table still in your garage. Remember you’re supposed to sell it to a woman down the street?”
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Andreas frowned, then turned to Rosemary.
“You’re not Martha. How did I not see this right away? Show me your passport, please.”
She tried to laugh it off. “Oh, come on, don’t be dramatic…”
But passports don’t joke. A minute later, everything was on the table like the check at a restaurant. No surprises. Just an unpleasant truth.
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“I’m sorry,” Andreas said softly, turning back to Rosemary. “But I didn’t invite you.”
Rosemary’s smile cracked. She stood up fast.
“Real Martha’s boring! She’s quiet, always thinking things through, and never improvises! With her, it’ll feel like living in a museum!”
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“That’s exactly why I fell for her. For her attention to detail. For the pauses. For not rushing into things: because she wasn’t chasing thrills, she was seeking truth.”
“Oh, I just seized the moment to build happiness!” Rosemary yelled. “Martha was too slow and less invested than I was.”
“You cared more about the itinerary than the person,” Andreas replied. “You asked about the size of the house, the internet speed, the beaches. Martha… she knows what color ribbons Rosie wears.”
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Rosemary huffed and grabbed her bag.
“Well, suit yourself! But you’ll run from her in three days. You’ll get tired of the silence. And the buns daily.”
She stormed around the house like a hurricane, stuffing clothes into her suitcase with the fury of a tornado in heels. Then—slam. The door shook in its frame.
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Andreas and I just sat there on the terrace. The sea whispered in the distance. The night wrapped around us like a soft shawl.
We drank herbal tea without a word.
“Stay for a week,” he said after a while.
I looked at him. “What if I never want to leave?”
“Then we’ll buy another toothbrush.”
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And the following week…
We laughed. We baked buns. We picked olives with sticky fingers. We walked along the shore, not saying much.
I didn’t feel like a guest. I didn’t feel like someone passing through. I felt alive. And I felt… at home.
Andreas asked me to stay a bit longer. And I… wasn’t in a rush to go back.
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