The sun had not yet risen when I heard the floorboards creak.
I opened my eyes, and through the gaps in the wooden walls, I saw my father's silhouette.
He was walking slowly, back slightly bent, a large shawl over his shoulders, an old hat on his head.
He didn't want to wake me.
He thought I'd still be sleeping for hours, wrapped in the peace of this place he had just found for me.
But I was already awake, silent, my bare feet against the cool floor.
He turned his head, and our eyes met.
— You're leaving?
He nodded. His bag was almost empty. Just the essentials. He wanted to travel light. Be quick. Discreet.
— I'm taking another path. Not the one we came by. Elias showed me an old trail. The villagers use it to fetch salt or cloth from the small outer towns. It's safer. If they're waiting for me at the forest's edge, I don't want to lead them here.
He spoke without raising his voice. As if he didn't want to wake the wind.
— Don't you want to say goodbye to Louis?
— He's already keeping you safe. He doesn't need me to understand.
He hesitated, then placed his hand on my shoulder.
— I'm going to get Vanessa. And I'm going to talk to Marc. I think… I don't want to live a lukewarm life anymore. I want to be a whole father, not a man hiding his misery behind an empty marriage.
I nodded. I didn't cry. Not that morning.
Because he was leaving for the right reasons.
And I knew he would come back.
---
> The village woke slowly. The sound of pots, a sleepy rooster's song, children's laughter ringing like musical notes.
I didn't want to stay in that bed. Not today.
I wanted to live.
I got up, put on a simple dress one of the women had lent me the night before.
I tied my hair halfway up, wanting to feel the air play through the curls.
When I stepped out of the little wooden house, two children ran to grab my hands.
— You're the girl who ran away!
— Yes, I smiled. But today, I'm just Mylova.
We played in the grass.
They showed me their hidden treasures: a shiny stone, an eagle feather, an old piece of fabric with drawings on it.
I laughed. Truly. For a long time.
And as I ran after them, between two bursts of laughter, I looked up.
Louis was watching me. Sitting on a bench, his arms resting on his knees, he never took his eyes off me.
He was smiling. But not a wide smile. A small, soft one, like a hand resting gently on my heart.
A man approached him. Tall, sturdy, skin like aged copper, a scar under his left eye.
— You know how to read? he asked.
Louis shrugged.
— I used to teach. Not for long. But I loved it.
The man nodded.
— We have children here. And they need to know how to write, count, understand the world they've never seen. You could come in the afternoons. In the mornings, I'm the blacksmith, and I could use an extra arm. I'll teach you the fire, and you'll teach them the words. Deal?
Louis smiled. A real smile. He looked over at me and called:
— What do you think, my love?
I shrugged with a laugh.
— I think it's a good start to rebuilding the world.
The man laughed too, and they shook hands.
My Louis had found his place.
---
> That evening, the fire crackled softly in the center of the village.
I was with the women, around the big cooking pots.
We chopped, stirred, tasted.
We shared our days in quiet voices.
We laughed over small things.
We passed the vegetables as if we were passing down memory.
Here, we didn't just "make food."
We prepared warmth.
We wove bonds.
Louis arrived just before the end.
His hands were blackened with coal, his shirt damp, but his face was happy.
— Want me to help you carry something?
— Haven't you carried enough all day?
— Carrying for you is different.
He helped me lift the pot.
And as we poured the steaming rice into wooden bowls, he didn't stop looking at me.
Not like a man looks at a woman.
But like a man looks at his whole world.
That night, the meal was simple.
But it was a meal for free souls.
The entire village felt like one big house, with invisible walls made of love, weariness, and dreams.
And me, Mylova… I was alive.