The Sky We Seek (Love and Other Dreams #2)

Chapter 37

Elina

My shoulders are heavy, my eyelids swollen. I feel like a ghost. Not here, yet not gone.

In this state, I shouldn't be working. And I actually have the day off today. After all, Noah and I were supposed to be in Munich.

He was supposed to take the first step toward overcoming his trauma with yesterday's visit to Klaus.

We were supposed to laugh together. Kiss until we couldn't breathe. And feel our love flood us with warmth and security.

But here I am. And I am alone.

Since Noah stormed out of my former professor Klaus's practice, I haven't seen him. He doesn't respond to my calls and doesn't open the door for me. He returned the letter I wrote to him, explaining everything, unopened. If it hadn't been for Hanna and Florian's cabin happening to be vacant, I wouldn't have had a place to stay.

Dammit. When I discovered that Klaus had a practice in Munich during my research, I couldn't believe my luck. The plan was perfect. How could it go so wrong?

"Wow." Clara meets me in the hallway, looking at me with a mischievous grin. "You guys sure had a wild party in Munich. "

Lost in thought, I nod. Even lifting and lowering my head is an effort.

Clara hooks her arm through mine and pulls me toward the kitchen. "First, you're getting a coffee. And then I want to hear all about your trip."

An exhausted sigh escapes my lips. What am I supposed to tell her? So much has happened in the past twenty-four hours that my mind is in complete chaos. I don't know anything anymore.

Not who I am. Not what I'm doing. And certainly not why I'm even here.

There's only one thing that's so clear it can penetrate the gray in my thoughts: Noah doesn't love me. And maybe he never did.

Yes. He's just like all the other men who wanted to conquer the world for me, only to tear the ground from under my feet a few weeks later.

"You probably want a jumbo cup, right?" I hear Clara's muffled voice as if through cotton.

She continues to pull me along. Opens a door. Directs me to a solid wooden table.

I plop down on the corner bench like a stone into water and lower my gaze. The grain of the table surface blurs before my eyes.

How could I be so foolish again?

I didn't want to listen to Clara, Helene, or Maya. They all warned me. And even though Noah was never dangerous and never will be in the future, his words yesterday hurt me more than any actions ever could.

"There you go." Clara places a brimming coffee cup in front of me and sits down on the opposite wooden chair. Then she rests her arms on the table and leans forward. "Shoot. "

Silently, I reach for my coffee and take a big sip even though I know it won't help me.

Nothing can help me.

"Noah has left me," I say with a shaky voice.

Clara's lively expression instantly vanishes. Deep furrows appear on her forehead as she reaches for my hands. "Shit."

At least she doesn't ask for the details. I give her a grateful nod.

"What can I do for you?" she asks. I can see in her expression that she would do anything to help me.

If my lips weren't so heavy, I would smile now. "You're a great friend, Clara. But there's nothing..."

"I can get some ice cream. Or we can have a drink," she suggests with a conspiratorial raise of her eyebrows. "Do you want to talk or be alone?"

Uncertain, I shrug my shoulders. I have no idea what I want. And even less do I know how to move forward from here. Semmtal is so small that Noah and I will surely run into each other soon. He responds to problems with withdrawal and isolation. I'm sure he won't even look at me.

"What's the worst thing you can do to a person?" I impulsively ask Clara.

She looks at me with confusion. "Murder?" she asks, bewildered.

"Ignorance," I say, shaking my head dejectedly. "To act as if the other person doesn't exist." I have no idea how I'm supposed to bear it.

In the corner of my eye, I see Clara playing with her two braids. "I don't follow," she says.

And I can't explain it to her now. Because if I did, I would burst into tears on the spot. "Work will distract me," I quickly say, trying to lift myself up a bit. I still have my job. Here in the practice, I can do good and at least feel needed for a few hours. "When do we open?"

Just as Clara lifts her gaze to the kitchen clock, the door is forcefully pushed open. A deeply flushed Helene enters the room and quickly makes her way toward us.

Her frustrated gaze is practically glued to me. "I need to talk to you. In my treatment room," she says, gesturing for me to get up quickly. "Now."

One doesn't have to be well-rested to see that she's stressed. And one doesn't even have to be capable of a single clear thought to know that I'm the reason.

What have I done?

This question accompanies me as I stumble behind Helene, who swiftly crosses the practice. It can only be about one thing.

Well, at least I have good news for her.

"If it's about Noah..." I say, closing the door to the treatment room behind me.

She immediately raises her hand to silence me. "You didn't listen to me."

No, I didn't. But dammit, I should have.

"How could you get involved with him? The whole Semmtal is talking about your romantic adventure in Munich." She paces restlessly in the room while I lean exhausted against the cold door. Then she abruptly stops and turns to me with a pleading expression on her face. "This man has done terrible things."

"No, he hasn't." I have no idea why I'm defending Noah now, especially after he made it so clear how little he values my help. Nevertheless, I can't help it. The truth must come to light. "No one could have done anything for Julian on that fateful day. Not even you. Or me," I say without further explanations, assuming she knows the story like everyone else here.

A violent twitch runs through her body. "He let Julian die. That's how it happened, no different."

Are those tears I see in her eyes?

"I think Julian was sick. Long before the accident," I try to explain because even though she's my boss, I can't let her unwillingness to believe me sit with me.

Shaking her head, she looks at me from the other end of the room. Her arms are tightly crossed in front of her chest as if she's trying to hold on to herself. "Nonsense."

"My theory is that he had an abdominal aortic aneurysm." A condition she apparently didn't recognize even though he was under her treatment. "The fact that it ruptured after that harmless fall was pure coincidence."

Her eyes widen. Panic floods her face and quickly turns into anger. "My boy didn't have an aneurysm," she shouts at me with a shrill voice.

Excuse me? Did she just call Julian my boy?

In an instant, the puzzle pieces in my head come together.

Of course! The fact that Noah absolutely refused to be treated by her. The pictures in the kitchen – those are images of celestial phenomena. Julian took them. And he doesn't have a medical record because she treated him privately.

Stunned, I look at her haggard-looking face. "He was your son," I say before I fully realize what that means.

Her own child was sick. And she didn't notice .

There can be no greater punishment for any doctor in this world than this guilt.

I take a step toward her and reach out my hand. "I'm so sorry, Helene."

She looks like a statue. Cold. Hard. Immovable.

"Clearly, Noah manipulated you. Why else would you make such a blatantly wrong diagnosis and still believe it's correct?" Now Helene seems to be talking more to herself than to me. As if her brain is searching for a way to uphold her worldview, just so she doesn't suffocate from her own failure.

Even though I understand all of this, her words hit me so hard that my legs give way. I have never made a wrong diagnosis. I am a good doctor!

"The medical profession is an honor. And it carries a special responsibility," she suddenly says in such a distant tone that I feel even lonelier than before.

I furrow my brow. Why this change of topic? What is she trying to tell me?

Her lower lip trembles. "I wouldn't employ someone I can't trust."

"But you can..." I can't finish my sentence. Not because Helene interrupts me, but because I myself run out of strength.

She stares at me with pressed lips. "Hiring you was a mistake."

No. She can't say that! I’m a valuable asset. A great employee. I’m needed. That's what I have to believe. That's the driving force that has pushed me to excel my whole life.

How can she pretend it's otherwise?

Maybe because it is different.

Maybe I really am good for nothing .

Maybe my life is as insignificant as that of a mayfly.

"Pack your things," Helene says in a frosty tone. "I don't want to see you here anymore."

So this is how it ends? Even the rural medical practice at the end of the world doesn't want me anymore because I can't stay away from men.

How much more evidence do I need to finally admit defeat in my lifelong pursuit of recognition?

Foolish is the one who continues to fight even when they have already lost.

I can't help anyone. Not my patients. Not my brother. Not even Noah.

Not even myself.

"I don't need my things anymore," I say with a choked voice. What use is the stethoscope anyway? To listen to the uncontrollable trembling of my own broken heart?

No. It can stay here. Along with all the pain that Noah's rejection has left inside me.

With tears in my eyes, I storm out of the practice. Clara calls after me, but I no longer want to hear it.

I need to get away from here.

I need to leave this place before everything that has happened here consumes me.

As fast as my tired legs allow, I march toward Noah's house. It's actually too far to walk, but I have no other choice.

Inevitably, I imagine along the way what I would say to him if I were to meet him there.

I just wanted to help, can't you understand that?

You'll never heal if you don't overcome your trauma.

Do you really want to live like this? Forever?

What a question. Of course, he wants to live like this. A life without me is preferable to confronting the past.

That much I mean to him.

Now I can no longer hold back my tears. Sobbing, I walk along the forest path. By the time I reach the clearing, I have exhausted my entire supply of tissues and the emergency pack of marshmallows.

Sniffling, I enter the house.

Of course, he's not here, as he announced he would be at work. And he doesn't come while I pack my clothes into the suitcases and fill up the cosmetics bag.

It doesn't take half an hour for me to pack all my belongings and deposit them on the porch. I call a taxi and hide the house key in the hiding spot Noah showed me. Then I slide onto one of the self-made wooden chairs and let my gaze wander.

I gaze at the lake, which ironically sparkles even more intensely today than ever before.

Sighing, I lower my eyes to the handbag on my lap. Then I unzip it and take out the letter I wrote for Noah. A gust of wind almost tears the envelope from my hands. These words were my last chance to reach him. A much too passionate attempt to make him understand that he can't avoid processing his trauma either way.

Now I'm almost ashamed to have written the text at all. Noah has made it more than clear that he rejects my help. No wonder he didn't want the letter himself.

He's obviously not even worth the paper on which the words are written. I should burn it right there, where just a few weeks ago we looked deep into each other's eyes by the campfire, and I truly believed I could see his innermost self .

"You are so incredibly foolish." Even though it hurts, I have to speak the words. Because deep down, my heart still wishes Noah would appear right now. That he would see me sitting here with my luggage and realize how wrong it all went.

But the ordered taxi is the only vehicle that drives onto the clearing between the swaying trees in the wind.

"He doesn't want you. The sooner you understand that, the better." I take a deep breath. From now on, it has to be like ripping off a bandage.

Quickly.

I tuck the letter under the handle of one of the suitcases and grab the first travel bag to lift it into the car. The taxi driver helps me, and within five minutes, everything is loaded into the vehicle. I close the trunk, brush my hair away from my face, and turn around one last time to look at the house.

The porch is empty. The building appears as deserted as it did when I first arrived here.

My presence has left no traces here.

"Bye, Noah," I whisper. Then I lower my gaze, open the passenger door, and get into the taxi.