Adam E-Book

Kate Soeli

• Herausgeber: novum publishing
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 719

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025

Beschreibung

The moment she fears most for her life marks the beginning of their great love. When Anna comes to New York, she wants to fulfill her dream of becoming a writer in the city of dreams. Never would the young columnist have thought that at the moment of her greatest pain she would meet the man she would fall head over heels in love with. But Adam's traumatic childhood, intrigues and past threaten to destroy their love and put both of their lives in danger...

Leseprobe

Prologue

A whole six weeks had now passed and I was still desperately trying to get my life under control, connect and feel again. Feeling emotions, far away from pain and sadness, was my ultimate goal.

When I was little, I often sat at the kitchen table and Grandma told me how it used to be. Back then, when you didn't have much and yet you were unspeakably happy. When I close my eyes, I like to think back to those days. The world always looked better with cookies and cocoa. Perhaps this view of things was due to the childlike naivety and carefree attitude you had as a child. I remember my childhood fondly because it was filled with happiness, love and security.

Now, twenty years later, I realize that a lot has changed. In the fast pace of our time, you often have the feeling of being lost. Lost in everyday life, lost in your environment, lost in your job. Lost or trapped? Trapped in the sense of duty, trapped in the flood of tasks or in the carousel of thoughts and the obsession of having to optimize, plan and think everything through. Now that I don't have time to rack my brains about my life and the things that have gone wrong, I'm happy to be trapped: trapped in my job. This imprisonment robs me of the time to think about my grief, to break down in my pain and to lose myself in my thoughts. I don't want to think about him or about last year's summer, which I thought would change everything. But that summer was the beginning of the end. The beginning of the end of my dreams. The beginning of the end of my belief in love. The beginning of the end of my carefree life, from which all lightness has disappeared.

I look out of the window of my small office. Well, actually, I'm sitting at a desk in the middle of an open-plan office, but as there are three small walls surrounding it, I take it upon myself to consider it my realm. They are 1.50 meters high and when I'm immersed in my work, they seal me off from the hustle and bustle that usually prevails in a newsroom. I sit with my back turned to the remaining free wall, which has a small opening for entry and exit. At the moment, I'm visibly struggling to concentrate on my articles. I get up, pick up my coffee cup and walk to the window front. I stand still, as if in shock. I look out of the window and look straight down onto Elm Street.

I look at the people hurrying through the traffic lights with their briefcases in their hands and their cell phones to their ears. I see countless cars jostling past each other to get through the traffic lights that have just turned red. People, lost in thought and dutiful, almost remote-controlled, hurrying to their next task of the day.

In the midst of all the human chaos, I see this one girl holding her mother's hand, still hopeful and looking forward to the day. She is wearing a pretty yellow dress with a white collar, frilly socks and sandals. She wears her dark blonde hair tied back in a ponytail and held in place by a pretty ribbon.

I look at her and recognize myself in her. Back then, when mom was my heroine, who managed everything in her everyday life between her job, child and laundry, I was dressed similarly. I felt protected, happy and safe by her hand. She always allowed me to dream and encouraged me to keep my hopes up and trust in myself and my abilities.

I had a happy childhood, but it wasn't always easy for me at school. Due to the frequent changes of school that went hand in hand with my father's job, I had to get used to new things. While my father, as a domestic journalist, threw himself into the next assignment without a care in the world and my mother always supported him, I had to assert myself. Asserting myself at a new school or in an established clique, in search of friendships and a sense of belonging. When I became a teenager, my parents understood that puberty and the changes that came with this age were challenging enough, so they decided to settle down. They bought a house in Newburgh and my father started writing for a magazine. My mom, meanwhile, planned children's parties for local families and became increasingly involved in the community. It was during this time that I began to develop a passion for writing. It all started with diary entries to get the initial grief off my chest. It helped me get over my first crush and put up with the teasing from the girls in my class. At some point, the school recognized my potential, my teacher Miss Kenns to be precise. No sooner had I noticed, I found myself in my first poetry class. Over the years, my passion grew and I chose my courses according to my preferences for poetry and prose.

I have now turned my passion into a career: I'm Anna, I live in the hustle and bustle of New York City and I work as a columnist for a lifestyle magazine called Weekly Advices and I cover the Everyday Life column, specifically, I give tips on how to draw the positive out of situations and how to manage to find fulfillment and live happily regardless of the daily challenges face. It's ironic that I, of all people, deal with topics such as positive reinforcement, the path to happiness and mindfulness. I also give out weekly advice to my loyal community of readers.

I'm drinking my third cup of coffee and currently see it as half empty rather than half full. Tomorrow is deadline day and as I stare, my email inbox flashes open. The message is from Ryan, my overly ambitious and somewhat bossy boss, reminding me once again that my article is finished.

Anna, tomorrow at 10 a.m.

I await your article

on my desk!

Ryan

Ryan is a bachelor, a middle-aged man and he looks really good. He usually wears a dark jacket, jeans and a polo shirt. His hair, now streaked with gray, is always combed back. His style is sporty chic and he smells good. In my opinion, he could apply his aftershave a little more discreetly, because sometimes he leaves behind a scent that gives you a headache, but nevertheless I can't deny that he is extremely attractive. But he is also more than aware of that. However, his human qualities leave a lot to be desired.

Ryan is often condescending towards his employees. Unfortunately, he shows very little appreciation for his female and young colleagues in particular.

The topic of the article I have in front of me is The path to a happy life in ten steps. I sigh heavily, type annoyedly with my ballpoint pen on a pad of paper here and rummage desperately for a hook in my thoughts. At the moment, I would be happy if I could even bring myself to take one of the required ten steps, but my creativity seems to have deserted me and my muse has gone on a journey. As hard as I try, I just can't get a sentence down on paper. I read stories of people who have found joy again in love, in their jobs or even in their lives. I browse forums and even look at self-help group websites. However, none of this seems to have had any effect today. Frustrated, I take off my glasses and slump down on my desk, leaning wearily on my folded arms. I close my eyes, sigh heavily and try to activate my positive mindset, which doesn't seem to be working today.

While I think I'm already lost, I'm brought out of my despair by the buzzing of my cell phone. It's a message from Lisa:

Hey, Anna,

Let's meet today.

A new club has opened.

I'll pick you up at 9 pm.

Xoxo Lisa

Just as I'm trying to type my answer, the next message from Lisa appears:

Don't argue, best friend.

Don't look for excuses!

You are coming with us,

no matter how you stand in front of me at 9 pm!

See you later

Lisa knows me just too well, I think to myself and can't help but grin. Once again, she has managed to bring me out of my doldrums for a brief moment. She is my very best friend and has been since the day I arrived at Chemsey School and she offered me a seat next to her.

It's crazy how well she knows me, and thought transference really does seem to exist. I was actually just thinking about what excuses I had already used this month. Editorial deadline, office meeting and babysitting for my colleague are definitely in my top 3 this month of February.

Since we broke up, since I broke up with him, I don't like going to clubs, because that was exactly the kind of club where I met him back then.

First chapter

On July 5, Lisa insisted on accompanying her to the opening of the ultra-hip, or at least that's how she described it, new club, The Fifth. Lisa belonged to this new generation that found itself in the mainstream and where everything was hip, cool and ultra hot. She also chose this as the guideline for my evening outfit. I was actually the classic type. Pencil skirts and high-waist fabric pants as well as a matching satin or blouse top complemented my style. Pumps with a maximum heel of 6 cm and matching gold jewelry were my accessories. My hair was still dark blonde, only the curls became less over the years and were more like waves, which I usually wore pinned to one side or tied back in a ponytail.

Ultrahot was neither in my vocabulary nor in my closet, I thought to myself, and was faced with an almost impossible challenge. Lisa came to pick me up from home. However, she didn't arrive at 9 p.m. as promised, but a whole two hours earlier. I was lucky that at least I was already showered and dressed in my underwear when she arrived. When I opened the door and looked at her, I thought to myself that I would certainly not find a comparable outfit in my closet that at least resembled hers. Her black skirt seemed forbiddingly short and her blouse definitely far too see-through for my taste. I classed her black boots as presentable. Our ideas rarely got in each other's way and although we had so much in common, we couldn't have been more different in so many ways. Lisa turned up that day with a large paper bag in her hand. I remember that very well.

But I couldn't remember her wanting to spend the night with me. Although this was often the case on evenings like this. When Lisa partied, she partied hard. She could dance on tables and knew her way around happy hour. I often didn't feel comfortable letting her go home alone. As we always came over to my place first, I always offered her my couch, which she usually gratefully accepted. The next day, she would sleep it off. During this time, I was already philosophizing about the meaning of life so that I could continue writing one of my articles. I loved to use the morning productively and as I hardly drank any alcohol, unlike her, I didn't have to deal with a hangover or a bad headache.

"Well, let's get you dressed then," she snapped me out of my thoughts. Dress me?, her suggestion echoed in my mind. This could be exciting. I didn't know whether I should be happy or worried at that moment. I gave in to her request and resigned myself to my fate. We rummaged through my closet but, as I had already suspected, there was no outfit that would have been on a par with Lisa's choice of clothes.

"Don't you even have a little black dress?" Lisa gasped in shock.

"Yes, but I don't think that's what you have in mind!"

"We won't know until I've seen it on," she replied expectantly.

I understood the unspoken request, chose my only black dress, pulled it out of the last corner of my closet and decided to show it to Lisa. When I stepped out of the bathroom and looked at her, I could hardly hold back my laughter. The look on her face was simply priceless. She was so horrified that, although I was clearly trying to be serious, I had to laugh at the top of my lungs.

She looked at me questioningly: "Anna, what material is this made of and in what century did you buy it for heaven's sake?"

"It's vintage!" I said confidently as I smoothed it out with my fingers and looked at myself in the mirror from all angles.

"Vintage? It should be banned and the person who sold it to you as a vintage dress should be fired!"

I was now standing there in my little black dress that I had last worn nine years ago at my little cousin's confirmation. It looked accordingly. My aunt Annie particularly liked it. Lisa thought the high-necked dress, which even covered my shoulders and came down to my knees, was awful. She found the lace trim, which had a metallic silver thread running through the pattern, particularly awful. Yes, I have to admit that it was perhaps no longer in keeping with current fashion, but I liked it nonetheless. I had bought it with my aunt Annie in a small boutique in Newburgh. It had sentimental value.

Lisa didn't hesitate for long, jumped up, left the bedroom and walked purposefully back into the hallway to return with the mysterious bag she had brought with her. I raised my eyebrows wordlessly. What was that supposed to be now?

"As I said earlier," she repeated, "let's get you dressed." She unpacked the contents of her bag and spread them out on the bedspread of my bed. Dresses were now lined up neatly next to skirts and see-through tops . I let my gaze wander and didn't know which one I found worse. Lisa looked at me promisingly and I was aware that she expected me to pick out the item of clothing from her collection that I would wear tonight.

"Lisa, I can't possibly wear this!" I said as I pulled a very short spaghetti dress from her collection, which in my eyes was more like a top that was a little too long. It was semi-sheer, pink and made of polyester. But her haul wasn't going to get any better. One piece shocked me more than the other and then, just when I thought I was lost between negligees and hot pants, I saw a small glimmer of hope. I grabbed it and wordlessly disappeared into the bathroom with the plum-colored dress. It was knee-length and had a pretty but subtle V-neckline. The back was adorned with a long golden zipper. It was completely different to the other pieces: simple, elegant and therefore suited me perfectly.

"That was obvious, Anna!" I heard Lisa sigh. "It was worth a try. I had already guessed that you wouldn't even dream of considering the other parts. And, Anna: what kind of girlfriend would I be if I expected you to dress up. This really is perfect. It was made for you, Anna!"

I looked at myself again in the mirror in my bedroom wardrobe, smoothed out the dress with my fingers and was very pleased with the way it looked. I put on a fine gold chain and chose matching creoles, black pumps and a small evening bag. I applied a shimmering gloss to my lips and sprayed my favorite fragrance, Libre by YSL, on my neck and décolleté.

The new club in question was not far from my home, so we decided to walk. Like every week end evening, there were once again a large number of people out and about. New York was simply a city that never slept, and in the evening it was almost busier than during the day, as most people were off work and had the opportunity to immerse themselves in the nightlife and lose themselves in relaxation. Many of the people who live here work up to sixteen hours a day to fulfill their dreams, so it is not reprehensible that they wanted to switch off in the evening and pay more attention to their social life.

When I arrived at The Fifth, I saw this incredibly long queue of people. Typical New York and its hip stars. As soon as a new club opens, people are already crowding around with their cell phones in front of their faces to upload the coolest selfie to Instagram or TikTok. I've never been able to get anything out of this hype. In my opinion, people got lost in the illusion of showing others how exciting their own lives supposedly are, instead of enjoying the moment. Follower numbers were more important than real life. My computer skills were also very spartan and therefore only met the minimum requirements to survive in my job. I still had some knowledge of Word and PowerPoint, but hashtags and the like were completely new territory. While I continued to indulge in my observations and think about people's craving for recognition, I heard Lisa calling from a distance.

"Come on, Anna! We're in luck today. Todd has his night shift at the door tonight." I noticed that she had already run forward to greet him, beaming with joy. Exuberantly, she jumped around his neck, clung to his neck and he whirled her resolutely through the air. Todd, Todd, I tried in vain to remember that name. Lisa met new people all the time. She never missed an after-work party or a new club opening. She knew her way around the nightlife like no other.

Sometimes I was really amazed at the relationship between us. While she felt at home in the nightlife, I was always researching the current bestseller list for the latest novels. I loved getting lost in stories about love and dreaming myself into the fates of the individual protagonists and their circumstances. That was my world: I either wrote them myself or read them in books that I bought at flea markets, in libraries or in the traditional way in the bookshop around the corner.

"Anna, Todd from last week. I told you about him," Lisa finished my thoughts and looked at me strangely. She was almost asking me to confirm her stories in the presence of Todd so that she could possibly score points with him. "Yes, I remember," I added kindly, whereupon she smiled at him with relief. But what kind of girlfriend would I have been if I hadn't played along, I thought to myself.

How could I not remember Todd? Lisa told me more than vividly about their first and so far last encounter. Of the places his fingers had been and of his skills as a good kisser. My friend had come to this realization in no other place than the back entrance of a club. After sharing a cigarette, they parted ways and here, right here, today, they met again. Todd waved Lisa and me through and we were already inside the new and probably hottest club in New York for the next twenty-four hours, until some new blog would choose another club as the place to be. There we were, upstairs on the second level with a view of the entire scene. An old warehouse had been converted into by far the coolest club in the city. I loved the mix of industrial vintage elements and the New York vibe. There were white roses everywhere, on the walls and even on the ceilings framing the huge chandeliers. The sofas and bar stools were covered in old brown leather. The tables were made of stained acacia wood. The DJs played a hip mix of house and techno and the party crowd lost themselves in their sounds. The rhythm of the basses rang through my whole body. I let my eyes wander and had to admit that the club suited my personal taste in every way. It was sleek, stylish and engaging.

While Lisa made her way to the dance floor between all the party people, I tried to escape the crowd a little. "Lisa, I'm going to get a drink," I called after her, but she was already in her element, threw her arms in the air and started moving to the beat of the music. At the bar, I realized that the prices were pretty steep. Even after three years in New York, I still can't get used to it. 12 dollars for a water is really more than outrageous. As a girl from the country, everything in me just resists spending so much money on a drink that is neither particularly sophisticated nor has an intense taste. I ordered a water, as I rarely drink alcohol, and made my way purposefully to the rooftop terrace. As soon as I took the first step over the threshold, the fresh air enveloped me and I finally had a chance to take a deep breath. The view over the city was breathtaking. Everything was bathed in lights and people were moving around like little ants on the street at my feet. The sky was starry and the temperature was pleasantly warm. I breathed in the air deeply and paused for a moment to take in the peace and quiet and enjoy this wonderful night. The music was much quieter here and I could only hear the conversations around me as a murmur. I opened my eyes, turned my back to the balustrade and let my gaze wander through the crowd as I took a big sip of my ridiculously expensive water.

It was at this moment that I noticed him for the first time: a dark-haired, tall man, athletic, handsome and mysterious. He was dressed in black trousers, a black T-shirt and a dark leather jacket. Unfortunately, I couldn't make him out from a distance, but I was certainly not the only woman he had this effect on, I admitted to myself. He held the cigarette in one hand, the whiskey in the clear crystal glass in the other. He took a drag on his cigarette, exhaled the smoke and turned away from his companion for a moment. I noticed him not only because of his appearance, which immediately captivated me, but also because he was arguing with a woman. They were gesticulating wildly and although they were loudly banging words against each other's heads, I couldn't hear the content of their argument. This was probably due to the large number of people here and the distance of about five meters. While in the club you have the feeling that you can't hear anything other than the song being played, when you leave the dance hall, you have the impression that you have lost your hearing for the next ten hours. Everything comes through to you in a muffled haze. She looked breathtakingly beautiful. The woman wore a red dress, that was very figure-hugging and revealed all the advantages of her hourglass figure, had beautiful long brown hair and a beautiful face. I estimated her to be about twenty-eight years old. But her pretty face didn't light up like mine probably would have if this man had been facing me, it was sad and there were also emotions of anger and rage in it. The dispute got louder and louder until finally the glass was thrown down the roof terrace. The eyes of the others fell on this extremely attractive couple. One of the bouncers had been watching from a safe distance, but the glass seemed to be the straw that broke the camel's back. He told the mysterious man to leave the club by the shortest route and without any detours. He took one last drag from his cigarette, stubbed it out and casually flicked it down the terrace. He then adjusted his leather jacket and casually ran it through his dark hair, individual strands of which fell loose and into his face. At that moment, our eyes met for the first time and I saw his face. It was symmetrical with pronounced cheekbones and thin lips. His eyes were a beautiful ice blue and an elongated scar was visible on his right cheek. He was extremely attractive. When he gave me a cursory glance, I realized that I was still staring at him. I took my eyes off him and looked down at my feet. I couldn't think of anything better to do in my rising panic. Like a nervous teenager who felt caught out by his crush, I stepped from one foot to the other.

He made his way towards the exit and brushed against my arm as he passed. The stranger smelled very good, I realized. There really are few things more attractive than the smell of a man, which takes hold of you and stays in your memory even though he has already disappeared from your sight. I stared after him for a while. I was captivated by his mysterious nature. In addition to his anger, I also noticed the sadness hidden in his ice-blue eyes. A kind of emptiness that made me waver between fascination and shuddering. After all, the eyes are the gateway to all our souls. So how could they be dark and empty? Everyone has a story: his seemed to be a sad one.

When he left, I decided to do the same. I was exhausted from the working week and, try as I might, I couldn't get anything out of the clubs in my adopted city. On evenings like this, the superficiality of New York was palpable and even more obvious than during the day. While during the day it related to success, at night it spilled over into appearance. People were no longer reduced to the amount of work they were willing to invest in their own career , but rather to outward appearances such as long and full hair, a perfect body or appropriate clothing that emphasized the trained figure and boosted self-confidence. I pulled my cell phone out of my handbag and started typing as I pushed my way through the crowd, getting bumped into here and there.

Hey, Lisa, I'm really exhausted.

I'm going home.

Have fun!

Xoxo Anna

A message came back promptly.

Ok, xoxo.

With that, I officially declared my evening over. I ran down the stairs and made my way towards the exit. As soon as I reached it, I opened the door and stopped abruptly when I saw him again: the man from the roof terrace was now standing in front of me, literally shrouded in darkness. Only the outline of his figure was still recognizable. Leaning against a lamppost, he was taking a drag on his cigarette and exhaling the smoke immediately. While I soaked up the fresh air as a real blessing, he preferred to pollute it. I looked over at him and probably resembled a shy deer in the headlights, hastily making its way home. There was no sign of the pretty woman in red.

As I walked past, I noticed that he was on the phone to someone. "Yes, I'll take care of it. That's what I said. No, she's gone. I don't know where!" His voice made me shudder. It was rough and deep. At the same time, there was so much calm and serenity in it. It gave me goose bumps and fascinated me at the same time. I could no longer hide my interest in this man. I was so enthusiastic that I didn't even notice how I ran into a man in the middle of the street, who promptly expressed his annoyance with a loud "Hey". I managed to catch myself again, but to make matters worse, I got one of my shoes stuck in the kerb. This all happened right in front of the man who had caught my eye and whose attention was now focused on me, but unfortunately not in the way that we women would want, much more in the way that makes you long for a hole in the ground to crawl into out of shame. I tried not to let the embarrassment of the moment show, but unfortunately the glances of the people passing by me remained uncomfortably glued to my person. To the others, my appearance certainly gave the impression that the young woman had probably had far too much to drink and was no longer in control of herself, but the explanation was quite simple: Anna had a talent for making a fool of herself, often and gladly. Preferably, of course, how could it be otherwise, in front of an audience: a very large audience.

While I was still fighting the battle with curb and shoe, a group of young girls, probably in their mid-twenties, walked past me. They seemed to be amused by my annoyance, which could not be overheard by their laughter and whispering. I really wanted to sink into the ground. But that wouldn't have helped me either, as I couldn't get my stupid heel out of the hole in the kerb. Damn. How could a city like New York be so progressive and modern and at the same time have such outdated pavement surfaces? As I tugged at my shoe, now using my hands as well, I was getting hot. I was sweating because this situation was more than uncomfortable. Getting stuck at the main entrance of a trendy club of all places, and during the party people's rush hour, was so typical Anna. Keep calm, Anna. Keep calm. I took one last deep breath, tried to block out the crowd around me and finally managed the impossible.

When I was finally able to stand up, having freed myself from the kerb and the embarrassment of the open road to make my way home, I noticed the attractive stranger in black looking at me with a grin. Up until a minute ago, I had actually liked him. But now he had definitely lost his sympathy points. First bumping into me, leaving the scene without a word of apology and then making fun of my awkward and endlessly embarrassing situation? I had had enough. I put on my self-confidence costume, straightened up, tucked in my dress and finally made my way home. This evening was the crowning glory of my week. It was high time to get home and get into the shower to wash the stress off me and sink into bed snuggled up in my tracksuit and find the peace and quiet that my body needed so much, but which was again so rare in this city. My plan for the weekend was set: I would hole up in my apartment, catch up on the week's sleep and devote myself to my two new acquisitions from the book flea market.

Second chapter

When I came to New York three years ago to start my job at Weekly Advices, the central location of my apartment was of utmost importance to me. After all, I didn't have a car. With all the overtime I diligently accumulated almost daily, regular working hours were also out of the question. For these reasons, everything had to be within walking distance for me. I often had to walk home alone at night, but because I only lived a few minutes away from most clubs, I didn't mind that too much. I wasn't afraid of the dark. On the contrary, the darkness slowed my life down a bit and sharpened my eye for the beauty of the night. I loved the fresh evening air and the evening walk under the starry sky. So much was hidden in the flood of stars and even space and time were no longer important here.

Now I had about ten minutes to walk before I would reach my apartment and fall into bed. This thought kept my motivation alive to ignore my aching feet and walk forward. It gave me enough time to take a break from the evening. I liked to lose myself in my thoughts and my company was usually enough to fill me up. I liked being alone with myself and my carousel of thoughts. It's unbelievable how many different people you meet on a Friday evening: Party animals, lonely souls and in the middle of it all, hopeful bachelors and bachelorettes who were looking for the one, all-consuming, great love. Personally, I probably belonged to the latter group. I was and remained hopelessly romantic and firmly believed that one day it would find me too: the great love!

After my last relationship with my high school sweetheart Tom, I had remained single. Our relationship lasted two years and ultimately broke down due to our different visions for the future: He wanted the classic marriage and already saw himself with children sitting in his front garden. I, on the other hand, wanted to get out. Out into the world to make my dreams come true and realize myself. I wanted everything at once: a man who loved and supported me, but at the same time I was also striving for independence. I was always on the lookout for a magazine that would publish my stories, that would trust me and encourage me in my abilities. I wanted to write stories, leave my mark, lose myself in words and reach people at the same time. We parted on good terms and see each other regularly when I visit my parents. Tom is now happily married and the father of a young son. I would say that we both did everything right. We found happiness without losing any of our own personalities and without putting our ideals behind someone else and their wishes.

By now I knew my way around my neighborhood quite well. I even knew a few shortcuts. They weren't always in the alleys that inspired confidence, but wasn't that typical of shortcuts? I believed in karma and the good in people. These had also been the decisive reasons for me to put aside my fear of the dark and the unknown and to go through life with confidence. If I wasn't afraid and didn't send this negative feeling out into the universe in the first place, then it wouldn't give me any reason to lose myself in worry. That was my firm conviction and I lived by it.

As soon as I turned into Halom Street, I had a bad feeling in my stomach. A sinking feeling spread through my stomach, which I pushed aside. Undeterred, I continued on my way, holding my handbag a little closer to my body and clutching my stomach with both hands. A light summer breeze swept through my body. It had become fresh. I walked forward at a fast pace and halfway along the path I noticed a man leaning against the brick wall of a goods counter with his right leg bent. I looked around me and realized that I had already moved far too far down this alley for it to make sense to turn back. At the same time, I also realized that we were all alone here. My unease about the situation grew. Lost in my thoughts, this fact had remained hidden for too long for me to react appropriately. I pushed my mistrust aside, took a deep breath and moved straight towards him. Towards the man whose eyes had already found me, while he plucked a handkerchief from his trouser pocket and looked at me while chewing gum. Even though I didn't have a good feeling, I ignored my emotional impulse because I had to get past him. There was no other way out. As soon as I had passed him, the first wave of relief hit me. But just as I was about to celebrate it silently and proudly and breathe out calmly, I noticed footsteps behind me. I increased my pace and focused on my way out of the alley and thus out of the situation, but they came closer, got faster and before I knew it, I felt a hand on my right shoulder. My knees went weak. Panic rose up inside me and I was overcome by a suffocating faintness. Thousands of thoughts raced through my head. Fear began to take over me completely. I searched for hope in the smallest nooks and crannies of my body that I didn't need to worry and that everything would be alright, but all I found was a small surge of courage that was just enough to turn around and faced the hand lying on top of me. Trembling, I dared to turn my head to the side and looked him straight in the eyes. They were dark, cold and imperious. In the blackness of them, I saw myself doomed.

"You didn't want to leave without greeting me politely," said the stranger very calmly. I couldn't get a word out. I fell silent. I was paralyzed with fear. I went through all the escape options in my mind. But it made no difference whether I went to the left, the direction I had come from, or to the right, the direction I would have taken next, it was deserted here. Completely deserted. No one would notice us. No one would see us. In my pumps, I wouldn't have the slightest chance of running away on the cobbled asphalt. Even my screams and cries for help would be hopelessly drowned out by the hustle and bustle from the neighboring clubs and bars.

Before I could declare my escape as hopeless, he had already grabbed my shoulder so hard and pushed me against the wall that I seemed to be at the mercy of the impact of my head against it. I felt like I was losing consciousness as I tried to endure the pain caused by the blow. I tried to focus on breathing steadily so as not to hyperventilate and to calm my heart. It was beating so hard against my chest with fear that I had to hold it, worried it would jump out at any moment. But when he ran his right index finger down my neck to my collarbone, I decided to surrender to my fate and close my eyes in the hope that this moment would pass quickly so that I could forget my tormentor's face, simply erase it from my memory. That would definitely increase my chances of surviving the moment. Traumatized and scared, but I would stay alive. I tried to maneuver myself into a kind of trance state with steady breathing, simply to escape from the here and now and make sure that the coming minutes couldn't leave any traces inside me. I began to breathe in and out again and again. I tried to swallow down the rising panic and hold back the tears that were welling up inside me.

He let his finger wander further, first to my chest, then to my cleavage, which he pushed open again to the side to see the top of my underwear. As much as I concentrated, I was overcome by sheer fear and a sob escaped my throat. Then he changed direction. He ran his fingers along my back and I begged him to stop. Tears welled up inside me, despair spread and despite everything, I didn't see the slightest chance of escaping this experience and this disgusting man. I was trembling all over, could barely stand on my feet and whimpered for my life as I saw everything lost. He took pleasure in my helplessness, going on and on and looking me coldly in the eye, as if he was enjoying my despair more and more. All of a sudden, a second male voice sounded in the alley. It came from the direction I had come from and sounded familiar. I didn't know it and yet it seemed as if I had heard it before. My head was pounding with pain. The stranger let go of me and I began to feel for the bump on the back of my head. As soon as I found it, I squinted and tried to breathe through the pain. My legs had lost all stability and I felt like I was being held by a ghostly hand. I was just infinitely grateful that there was someone there who could possibly call the police or use their voice to chase him away. I was still in panic mode, completely unable to say anything, but I was no longer alone.

"Let her go," the man shouted. Fear tightened my throat. Then I heard the other person coming closer and his steps in our direction became faster and faster. I heard a thud, then another and when he finally stepped away from me, it went black in my head, pitch black. I lost consciousness and slumped to the ground.

"Are you okay? Do you need an ambulance? Hey? Everything's going to be fine. I'll look after you. He's gone," a male voice tried to bring me back from my state of mental absence.

The words echoed in my mind, but the pain at the back of my head was so strong that I couldn't locate them. With each of his words, I felt my return. My return to the here and now. My return to the present. My return to this terrible place. Panic rose up inside me. I opened my eyes and screamed: "Don't touch me. Let go of me. Don't touch me, I said." I put my arms in front of my chest, trying to cover the little bit of cleavage I had left and protect myself. At the same time, I made a panicked attempt to straighten up, get a firm footing and run away. But that wasn't so easy without using my arms. As I tried to stand, my heels slipped, I buckled and fell to my knees. As soon as I had finished shouting the words and composed myself a little, I caught myself and tried again to lift my aching head to finally make a pitiful attempt to escape. But my head hurt so much that I felt dizzy. The blow made everything blurry and I felt nauseous. He then raised his hands in a placating gesture and I looked over at him, straight into his eyes. They were the same icy blue eyes that I had lost myself in for a brief moment earlier that evening. They shone like the sky in the morning, giving me hope and promising me security.

"He's gone. I'm not going to hurt you," he replied gently, glaring at me. It was the stranger from The Fifth who had bumped into me and made fun of me when I got my shoe stuck in the curb. He was there again and this time he had helped me and saved me. He put his arm around me and held me for a moment. I looked at him and he returned my gaze. He looked over at me with concern. The concern was for me. I returned to the horrific experience I had just lived through and realized what had happened. Tears gathered in my eyes and made their way out. I fell into his arms, sobbing, but trembling with gratitude and relief.

"You don't need to be afraid," he whispered repeatedly in my ear. "I won't leave you alone!"

He took my hand and at that moment I saw that I wasn't the only one who had suffered wounds from this incident. Even if mine were more of a psychological nature. His knuckles were bloody and scabbed over. Then I realized: the blow, the footsteps, the voice ... "It was you. You came and helped me!" I let my thoughts run free. I looked at him again. His gaze returned mine. "I'm sorry, I was late." I snuggled even closer to him. I realized how lucky I had been and as I threatened to lose myself in thoughts of what could have happened, my eyes filled with tears again. I surrendered to them. He pressed me closer to him and gave me endless comfort with his presence and strength.

I cried and cried. Until my tears gave way to exhaustion. My burning eyes had no more strength. He took his jacket, put it around my shoulders and continued to hold me. We sat on the cold ground in the empty alley, together, without saying anything. It wasn't the moment for any words. When I was able to open my eyes again, the sight was the same: me in his arms and the two of us on the desolate floor of this back corner of a warehouse. Nothing had changed. I hadn't dreamed it. What I had experienced was not my imagination. He stroked my hair. At the same moment, I heard that the music in the surrounding areas had already stopped, because dawn was already heralding a new day. We must have been sitting here for at least two hours.

"I want to get out of here," I whispered and looked at him pleadingly.

He nodded, helped me to stand up, adjusted his jacket on my shoulders and put his arm protectively over it. He led me home. For those ten minutes we walked side by side through the streets of New York in silence. When we arrived at my house, he dug out my house key from my handbag, unlocked the front door for me and took three steps back as I stepped into the hallway. He put his hands in his trouser pockets and looked first to the left and then to the right before turning back to me. He made sure that no one had followed us. I realized that straight away.

"You should get a good night's rest." I nodded to him, took his jacket off my shoulders and handed it to him. "Thank you," I said, "thank you for everything," and went inside without turning around again.

He waited until I let the door fall into the lock behind me and when I got upstairs, I looked out of the window to see him leaving. I was exhausted and only managed to take off my pumps and lie down in my dress under the covers in my bed. I pulled them over my face and looked at the clock one last time: it was already 3:30 am. I closed my eyes and fell asleep.

"Anna, have you finished the article? Anna?" Judy snaps me out of my daydream and back into the past. "Ryan's in a particularly bad mood today. The next issue is making him completely nervous. You know the competition has doubled their circulation and Ryan doesn't want to lose any of our readers to them," she continues. I need a moment to settle back into the present, sort out my thoughts and turn to her.

"Yes, I know, Judy. The article will be typed up and bagged up on his desk by tomorrow morning," I promise. I get up and make my way to our little kitchen when Judy looks at my notepad and points out the obvious.

"Anna, all you did was write the title The way to a happy life in ten steps," she reminds me, irritated and visibly shocked, as she tries to make sure that her words have not been heard by the others. I glance at the clock. It's already 6:11 pm. "Are you okay? Do you need help?" she asks anxiously.

I say no and tell her that I'm going to put in a night shift. I don't want to tell her, or rather myself, the truth about how I really feel just six weeks after our break-up. I can't do it to my broken heart again, to go back to a relationship that had filled me with love, that had supported and carried me until the fall into the hard and cold reality came. My tears have been used up, because I really did cry a lot, and now that he is gone for good, there is no reason to return to that time, to him and to our love.

I grab my cell phone, hastily type a WhatsApp to Lisa and then disappear, possibly for the whole night, into the infinite vastness of the World Wide Web.

I'm really sorry, Lisa.

Ryan is very tense and expects

top performance until tomorrow morning.

I have to work through it.

We have to postpone our meal.

Have fun.

Xoxo

I don't need to look for excuses. I have work to do. A curt okay lets me know that she has read my message. I scour the internet for ten possible beliefs on the path to a happy life that I used to live by myself until recently, but which disappeared from my mind when we broke up. Not only have I lost Adam, but also everything I stood for: my positive thinking, my curiosity for the unknown and my unshakeable belief in the good in people. But before I can think any meaningful thoughts about my work, the question of why and how it could have come to this once again shatters my world. But this time I can't and won't give in to my pain. I have to finish this article. My job is the last thing I have left of my New York dream and I owe it to my loyal readership. I owe it to myself not to give up on my dream of writing.

Over the next few hours, I pull myself together and concentrate on my work. Coffee keeps me going. I have long since exceeded the limit for healthy coffee consumption and moderate consumption of the same. The brown elixir allows me to get through the time and finish my article. Even today, the brown drink doesn't let me down. After three more coffees and six hours of work, I have already created the framework and from then on the article writes itself. At 6 o'clock sharp, I put the finished report on Ryan 's desk and head home, as I only have four hours left until the editorial meeting. Four hours to catch up on some sleep, take a shower, fix myself up and have a snack. My last meal must have been twenty-four hours ago and consisted of a small farmer's salad with lots of leafy vegetables, some tomato and cucumber. Not a lot, but enough to keep the body going. My appetite had never been particularly big, but since I've been working here, I'm often under so much pressure that regular meals and a balanced, wholesome diet are out of the question. Since I've been living here, I've completely lost sight of my work-life balance. It's all about surviving, making a name for yourself and shining, not finding a balance in everyday life. Honestly, who can even manage that? Even if you think you can't go any further, new paths are always opening up, is the introduction to my article. Back in high school in Mr. Dems' prose class, I was taught to include a personal touch in all articles. Mr. Dems told us this was the first step to success, a solid foundation to build on. Words must reach the addressee, make them feel that their story comes from normal life. This time the words didn't just come from my pen, they came from my heart. Our lives are shaped by so many components and the most diverse relationships. If just one aspect doesn't go in the right direction, our emotional balance is thrown out of kilter and we lose ourselves. It's high time to straighten up and find yourself. Life goes on. Life must go on, Anna!

Adam always encouraged me to give my articles the personal touch that he thought made them so popular.

Anna, tell people about yourself.

Let them be part of your life.

Then they will trust you.

Be their big sister, their mother,

that they may never have had

or who sorely miss them,

or the good neighbor with the good soul,

who is never at a loss for advice

and their warm words

are balm for her vulnerable soul.

"Well, finally," I hear Ryan say, annoyed, after I arrive at the agency at 9:45 a.m. with some fresh make-up and a new outfit after a hot shower and graze Ryan's office. He sits casually in his $4,000 executive chair, holding my article in his hand as he turns to face the doorway in one swivel motion. Knowing full well that I'm the one who's grazing his office and to whom his smug statement applies.

"It seems that what takes a long time does indeed turn out well," he adds without looking at me. I nod sympathetically, just in case he should get the idea to look at me, with a nice smile on my face, as you would expect from a good employee. Ryan rarely gives us the opportunity to actually smile wholeheartedly and proudly for the work we've done. Most of the time he criticizes the individual items in all their detail to such an extent that you are tempted to question your own ability. Sometimes he simply goes too far with his comments, because in my opinion any criticism can be packaged nicely and politely, but no less firmly as a result. His bossy attitude often annoys me. What would be wrong with showing gratitude and appreciation to your staff? With some people, a good upbringing simply falls by the wayside with their advancement. Instead of getting annoyed, I simply repeat my mantra, "Always be the best version of yourself!" and head straight to the meeting room with an eye on the time. Like every Thursday, our editorial meeting is scheduled for today at 10 a.m. on the dot. This is where we review all the articles once again and finally decide together which ones will make it into this week's issue.

I am the penultimate person to enter the room, closely followed by Ryan. He enters again with great self-confidence and, as usual, criticizes individual passages of our work here and there to make it clear to us once again that he has the final say in the design of our articles. For once, he seems to be happy with me. Fortunately, the last night I spent at the agency was not in vain.

I'm visibly struggling to follow his explanations as tiredness threatens to overtake me. I'm so busy trying to stifle a yawn so as not to draw his attention to me unnecessarily that I don't even notice who he has chosen as his victim for the day: Poor Lucy is less fortunate today compared to me. She moved here from Kansas and has been part of our team for almost three months. Like me, she also believes in the goodness of people. However, this belief is clearly being put to the test by our leadership. She is a quiet, rather inconspicuous young woman who Ryan has naturally chosen as a victim to pick on heartlessly. Lucy has grown very close to my heart in the short time I've read her and takes on the role of my little sister in my life, the one I wished for but never got. When she joined the agency, I took care of her, trained her in the most important processes and made sure she didn't get lost in the tough New York office. I hold her hand even at this moment, when Ryan is relentlessly working through his list of criticisms and illustrating all the supposed mistakes with attention to detail, especially at. I just want to show her that she's not alone. After thirty minutes of discussion, the spook is finally over and everyone can breathe a sigh of relief. While the others leave the room in a hurry, Lucy and I stay at the table for a moment.

"Anna, can I ask you something?" I hear Lucy say meekly as she looks down at her fingers, nervously rubbing the skin on her nails. But she doesn't need to say anything else. "Of course I'll help you!" I smile back in her direction. She raises her eyes and looks at me with a pained smile. While the corners of her mouth lift, her joy at my help doesn't reach her heart. The disappointment of not having satisfied Ryan again probably weighs heavier.

We decide to get straight to work. I boil a pot of coffee, pour us two cups and walk over to Lucy's desk. Her workspace is neat and clearly structured. Quite different from mine. While Lucy has her notepad and two pens neatly positioned next to each other between her phone and computer, my computer is covered in post-its with notes that make little sense to others, but follow a clear line for me. As we all know, genius is also a master of chaos. I also rarely have a pen to hand, as it keeps getting lost as if by magic. I actually spend half my working time looking for my notes or a pen that hasn't run out of ink. So much for genius at work.

We go through Lucy's article on the meaning of friendship, which Ryan has marked in red in a criss-cross pattern, again hovering over her words like little brake lights, together and subject his points of criticism to concrete analysis. Step by step. Passage by passage. There is no point in getting angry about his comments, as he is the type of person who has only one correct idea of a good article, namely his own, and there is not the slightest doubt about it. Some things seem downright ridiculous, but on other points it definitely makes sense to let your gaze wander and expand the various levels of a friendship. It was not for nothing that Aristotle distinguished between benefit, pleasure and the perfection that can be achieved through friendship in an interpersonal relationship. I realize that I am still completely exhausted from the previous night's work. My eyes are burning and tiredness is not long in coming. I'm struggling to concentrate on the words and my exhaustion is even clouding my vision for the right choice of words, but I do my best to encourage Lucy and to draw out and build up her self-confidence, which Ryan has talked down in front of the assembled team and pushed to the back of her mind. Within an hour and a half, we had patched up her contribution, typed it up and reprinted it. An hour and a half that admittedly seemed like half an eternity.

"Thank you, Anna. I'm so grateful for your help. I could never have done it so quickly without you. And yet I have to hurry so much today of all days. My brother's coming to pick me up in a few minutes," Lucy gushes, almost by heart, as she folds up all the notes on her desk and stows all the pens in the corresponding box.

"You have a brother?" I ask in surprise, because she has kept this fact under wraps until now, while I drape our coffee cups on a tray.

"Yes, our relationship is not easy. We've experienced a lot together and as children we only really had each other. He always looked after me. Unfortunately, he got into the wrong circles when he was young and from then on we only had sporadic contact. But he is everything I have."

"Oh, I see," I say casually, because Lucy's talkativeness surprises me so much that I prefer to listen to her instead of interrupting her. I don't think I've ever heard her say so much information about her past in just a few seconds.

"Last week, he finally got in touch with me again after a long time. He's back in town. I haven't seen him for ages and I'm looking forward to seeing him all the more," she explains, beaming with joy and in great detail, as she stows her cell phone and organizer in her brown handbag.

It seems that it's not uncommon for adolescents to lose their way and find themselves in the wrong circles. I'm glad I don't have children. At least at the moment. Times have changed. It seems to me that we grew up in a different sphere. There was no crime or drugs, not to mention big problems with our parents. Times continue to change with almost every generation, causing teenagers and adults to drift even further apart than the generations before them. These changes are truly frightening.