For all the pain, I was also incredibly angry. My father didn't leave me alone. His daily calls drove me into a state of raging anger every time. Old wounds opened and new ones were added. I wondered why now of all times? Was it just Alec and his call? Or was there something else behind it? For ten long, painful years he hadn't contacted me. Ten years in which my anger at him grew steadily. I suppressed it, tried to keep these feelings away from me as much as possible. He didn't care that when I was young I watched helplessly as my mother grew weaker and weaker. How the malignant cells implanted themselves in their bodies and ate them up from the inside out. He was aware that I would accompany her as far as possible on her last trip. Also that my heart will scream incessantly and my soul will tear apart. He accepted that I had to watch my mother die alone and without support from my father. My father knew that I would never have left her alone. I loved my mother far too much for that. And knowing this makes me so madly angry. I don't want to hear his apology. She means nothing to me. As my suppressed anger erupted at Asmodeus Bane, the pain at Alec's words faded into the background.

After a week I gave Alec to write to, or a phone call to get him to talk to me again. The radio silence between us is almost unbearable for me. My heart is still screaming his name incessantly. I'm still very angry with Alec. I threw myself into work, slept four hours a night when it came up and woke up with tears on my face. The recurring dream almost drove me out of my mind. It hurt so incredibly and nothing was as it used to be. I torture myself every day and every night. The days without Alec are bad. But the nights are hell. So on day seven after the end of my marriage, I began a ritual that was supposed to bring stability back into my life. I didn't want to think about what was and what could have been anymore.

The pain was too deep, as was the resentment. Every night after four hours of sleep I wake up sweaty and breathing heavily from my personal nightmare. After taking a deep breath and realizing that Alec is still not there, I go to the bathroom. Alec's things are all still in place, just as they were before he left. You'd think he just went to get a sandwich or on vacation in Hawaii. But that this is not the case becomes clear at the latest when I lay my head on the pillow to cry myself to sleep. Every night for six weeks. I do my morning routine in the bathroom and then walk into the kitchen. The same process every morning, a precise sequence that is not changed. I watch the water as it combines with the deliciously aromatic powder of the finely spicy Colombian coffee beans. The invigorating aroma of the coffee steams into my nose and I inhale the seductive scent. Dressed in black sweatpants and a cozy navy blue hoodie, which has long since lost the smell of Alec and a cup of steaming black gold in my hand, I sit on the terrace and say hello to the new day. Alec didn't just make it his business to build a beautiful pergola for my editor's wife. He also made up his mind to replace the rotten wood on my terrace.

So it happened that one morning, instead of indulging in my well-deserved sleep, I watched my muscular husband and his no less muscular brother as they carried long dark wooden floorboards through the house and removed the old ones in arduous, sweaty detail work. The sun was already beating down on their bodies, and the two men's shirts were sticking to their bodies from the sweat of their hard work. I stood in the patio door with my mouth open and my tiredness suddenly vanished. After a round of coffee for the three of us, I went into the garden armed with a book and my laptop. The two brothers spent the sunny day building a new terrace and I watched them unabashedly. Before long, Alec took off his shirt. I swallowed hard and as soon as Jace had left my house that evening, I fell on Alec and he screwed the last bit of my mind. It was the first time we couldn't make it into the bedroom and the next morning I had bruises on my back and knees.

Moments of silence and intimacy, whispered words and roaring laughter. We often sat together on the terrace and enjoyed the last warm rays of sunshine of the day. We watched the monarch butterflies hover around dark purple flowers. Their silky orange-black wings fluttered around wildly and the long proboscis joined the goblet and sucked in the nectar. We sat huddled together, Alec playing with the fingers of my left hand, sliding his over and over the silver circlet and assuring me that he had no memories of Las Vegas. Today I know it was a lie.

Every morning I sit on the simple wooden bench with the anthracite-colored cushions and watch the sun as it directs the moon to its proper place with all its strength and harshness. The sky turns dawn and as soon as the first rays of the day tickle my skin, I close my eyes and allow myself a moment of weakness. After that, the rest of my daily routine begins. Mr. Wayland came up to me a few days ago after the editorial meeting and asked if everything was okay. I didn't understand what he meant and smiled slightly. I felt tired and drained. A look in the mirror in the morning showed a man with sad, reddened, puffy eyes, pale skin and a fake smile. But Mr. Wayland understood and put a fatherly hand on my shoulder. He looked at me intensely and nodded.

"You shouldn't cover up your problems with work." That was all he said and no more words were necessary. For the past few weeks I've read twelve hours a day, written eight hours on a review, and slept four. Deflection. Think as little about Alec and our shitty situation as possible. That was the only thing I wanted. Mr. Wayland got reviews for the next several months. My fingers didn't stop. It was like a frenzy. I felt possessed. Driven by the anger and frustration, I needed an outlet. And that was writing.

I also met Sam the taxi driver on the side. He is a nice guy and his wife is a warm elderly lady with a weakness for cats. Together we discussed different ideas for a book about life as a taxi driver. After our first meeting, my head was filled to the brim with ideas. My fingers literally rushed over the keys and for the first time I slept not four hours but only two. My urge to write down all of Sam's ideas and collected anecdotes was relentless. The project is demanding and challenges me a lot. In my role as a ghostwriter, I have a lot of freedom. But Sam always has the last word.

This is how I drive away my thoughts and longings, compensate for the anger with the written word. On the day of the editorial meeting, Mr. Wayland pulled the ripcord and there was a fairly high probability that I was saved from mental breakdown. Three weeks of compulsory leave. My work is my life and at the moment the only way not to lose my mind. At least that's what I told myself. I continued to meet with Andrew and Raphael once a week. Ragnor was now regularly there too and every time he gave me a verbal enema. "You are stupid Magnus. Asmodeus deserves it no other way. Should he burn in hell. But Alec puts the world at your feet. He can free you from the darkness. You just have to let it happen. Don't be so stupid and obstruct yourself a future just because he was afraid to tell you the truth. And honestly, I can understand him. The way you have acted since the beginning of your relationship, he always had to fear that you would run away with waving flags." Ragnor's tirades turned out to be something like that. Needless to say, we've both had at least one glass of vodka each time. When we last met, he passed me a bunch of keys across the table without comment. I immediately realized that they were the keys to the house in Blue Heaven.

"Maybe the sea air is good for you", he said after a while of silence. Andrew put his hand on mine and squeezed gently. Raphael did the same and Ragnor also gave me strength and support. I took a deep breath and didn't hold back my tears.

"I trusted him and he hurt me. It just hurts. Still, I miss him so much. Alec doesn't respond to my calls or messages. Every day I try to distract myself. But everything reminds me of him. And then it is there is still this anger. I don't want that anymore. Basically I don't know what to do. I feel helpless and alone", I sobbed and slipped the keys to the white house on the beach into my pocket.

The water at my feet is cold. Icy to be precise. It causes the blood vessels to contract and provide warmth to all vital organs. My hands and feet are already starting to tingle. I have no intention of plunging my body into the icy waters of the sea. I just want to stand here at the water's edge and watch the waves ride. The winter midday sun gives off just a touch of warmth. It is not enough to penetrate the skin. The gusty wind tugs at my clothes and gets caught in my hair. Freezing cold like a million pin pricks hits my face.

I enjoy the pain, it drives away my dark thoughts for a moment. Alec's sparkling eyes keep flashing before me. The roaring sea at my feet is the same color and the white spray is reminiscent of the purity of his skin. In the distance a seagull is screaming and I am standing here screaming at the water's edge. Just like on Christmas Eve. The excited tingling of déjà-vu spreads and the memory of my fear of having lost Alec comes back.

I slump crying on the cold sandy ground. The cold water washes around my hands and soaks the fabric of my jeans. My heart cries out for Alec, every fiber of my body longs for my husband and I surrender to my fate. Hot tears run unhindered down my face, which is aching from the cold. All strength has left my trembling body. The cold continues to penetrate my clothes and skin. I am shaking and the sobbing from my throat is accompanied by the sound of my teeth chattering. "Alexander", I breathe between thick tears and deep sighs.

"I am sorry." Despite disappointment and anger, the pain and love overwhelms me to an unimaginable extent. Why here? Why now?

The ringing of a phone is muffled by the force of the lashing waves and the harshness of the roaring wind. Confused, I look around and find that I am alone. The beach is deserted, only the dark clouds above me and a lonely seagull nearby are my companions. The ringing does not stop and I am slowly beginning to understand. It's my phone With stiff fingers I reach into the pocket of my jeans and get hold of the black plastic part. My hands are wet and shaking uncontrollably. Just like that I manage to press the green receiver and listen to the words of the voice at the other end.

"Mercy Hospital. Am I speaking to Magnus Lightwood?", she asks and I nod. I suddenly get hot and my pulse skyrockets. What happened?

"Hello?", she asks and I clear my throat quickly.

"Yes I am."

"My name is Catarina Loss. Are you Alexander Lightwood's husband?", she asks and again I nod silently. "Sir, can you hear me?", she asks and I almost shout yes into the phone.

"Your husband had an accident. Can you come to Mercy Hospital on Black Tree Hill?" I am unable to speak and the melodious soft voice that speaks to me seems to understand.

"Mr. Lightwood, it is really important", I hear her say.