Back to me E-Book

Alexandra Monz

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

Seitenzahl: 131

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025

Beschreibung

Marie used to think she was happy with her life. But when her partner cheats on her, she sees an opportunity to break away from her previous life and travels to the place she has been drawn to since childhood. Ready and with enough courage in her heart to take the step into the unknown, she decides that her new life should begin in Ireland. There, new challenges await her, as well as a handful of warm people, maybe a new love. But above all, the big question that she wants to answer for herself: "Who am I and what do I want to do with my life?" Will she find the answer?

Leseprobe

Dedication

For all the dear people who are part of my life and are so infinitely important to me, and to all those who have already gone.

For my whole big, loving family, who stand behind me, my decisions and my fixed ideas in every situation.

For my friends - those who have stood by my side throughout my life, as well as those who have accompanied me part of the way.

For J. and S., the girls who encouraged me to send my manuscript to a publisher.

For my two eraser noses, LUNA and HECTOR, who enrich my life in a way that I can't put into words.

For the BEST DAD and the MOST WONDERFUL SISTER in the world - with your love, every step will always be a little easier for me.

And last but not least, for the person I wish most of all was still with us to read my book and everything that is yet to come. I know that you are always with me and give me the courage and strength to achieve everything I set out to do.

Foreword

There I am, standing in front of the huge airport building, with my huge "Marry Poppins" travel bag in my hand, in my favorite royal blue jumpsuit, my long brown hair neatly braided into two pigtails so that it doesn't get on my nerves during the flight.

I look down at my hand holding the plane ticket, a slight shiver comes over me, I'm not sure if it's because of the approaching storm or my fear, but one thing is certain and I say it out loud to myself: "You will take this flight, now or NEVER!".

Chapter 1

That evening, when Philipp - my "great love", my fiancé - confessed to me that one of his partners at the law firm, Franziska, was expecting his child and that he had been having an affair with her for some time, it shocked me to the core. It was the worst moment since then, when I realized with great horror that I would never marry Santa Claus, because he simply doesn't exist.

At first it was just one more day when I had come home from work unhappy, cooked dinner, Philipp and I sat down at the table, ate and talked about our terrible day, the terrible work in this terrible city with this terrible traffic and the terribly bad-tempered people.

This is how almost every evening has gone since we moved to Frankfurt together.

Only this evening something was different ... Philipp was just silently poking around with his fork in his full plate of pesto spaghetti, actually his favorite dish, and wasn't half as energetic as usual in the discussion about whether cyclists or pedestrians were the bigger traffic offenders. All he said on the subject were a few grunts, which were probably intended as a sign of indifference, and the odd "Hm, yes, you could be right".

Because I hadn't been willing to have a conversation with myself, since that's what I did half the day at work anyway, when my boss was once again not interested in my opinion, I ended the conversation with a "Well, the stupid cyclist survived in any case", and continued to devote myself to my food.

"She's pregnant!" I suddenly heard Philipp say meekly.

"Who's pregnant?" I replied, not knowing exactly how the sudden change of subject had come about.

"Franziska!" he said a little more quietly.

"That's wonderful! I'm very happy for her. I didn't know she was with someone, you didn't tell me. Then we should arrange a proper sex tomorrow..." I didn't get any further, because Philipp interrupted me gruffly:

"I'm the father, it's my child, I'm sorry."

I can't stop thinking about this one sentence: "I'm the father, it's my child, I'm sorry!" He's sorry ... Well, I'd rather say I'm sorry that I fell for this bastard for so long.

Philipp and I had been a couple since the 7th grade. He had thrown a huge snowball directly into my face in the school playground during the winter lunch break, whereupon I had thrown myself at him to wash his mouth out with snow, which inevitably led to the two of us seeing each other again the next time we were in detention. From that day on, it was all over for us.

For fifteen years, we survived bad times together and enjoyed wonderful moments.

I don't blame him, because I believe that everyone is responsible for their own path. I was happy to put my wishes on the back burner until he had found his feet in his profession and made a name for himself, as long as we were together.

His career was going great by now, as was his love life, obviously, and I was torturing myself from day to day in the office and making my trips around the world in my dreams. My time would come eventually.

It would never have occurred to me that my beloved boyfriend wasn't the least bit interested in my dreams and wishes and never intended to support me in them. That's how you fall flat on your face.

Now here I am, a week later, still very hurt, still very angry, still feeling betrayed, but with the certainty that my life was about to take a turn. I quit my job, which I never particularly enjoyed in the first place, scraped together all the money I had saved, bought a plane ticket to Ireland and made a plan of everything I wanted to see and experience, which, to put it bluntly, was completely unnecessary as my plans hardly ever work out.

Which brings us back to the beginning.

Another hour until the plane takes to the skies. And I'm right in the middle of it. Shouldn't I, in a fit of reason or terrible fear, back down, grovel to my boss and tell him that I wasn't serious, that he's a "salivating douchebag who can do nothing but manipulate the people around him and take his bad mood out on his employees"?

I look at my phone one last time. Another desperate message from my mother: "Did you remember to pack enough warm clothes? It's going to be very cold in the next few days!" I have to grin ... my mommy.

When I told my parents about my plans, my mother burst into tears and sighed something like: "You can't just fly to Ireland all by yourself without a job or a roof over your head", and, "You can live with us, you have everything you need here." Which, of course, I did consider during those first two tearful days and nights. But then I came to the decision that I didn't want to move back into my nursery, I wanted to make the best of the situation and finally think about my dreams and visions, and that now was the very best opportunity to do so.

So at least there was a good side to the whole drama.

My father just patted me on the back appreciatively and said, "Good riddance to that idiot. Have fun in Ireland!", which earned him a "TIM!" and a disparaging look from my mother, whereupon he kept his mouth shut and just gave me a final wink.

The plane takes off. I have managed to board without throwing up or panicking and running away. I am proud of myself and am now enjoying the fact that the burden of the last few days is beginning to fade with every little centimeter that the small dot on the screen in front of me moves further away from Frankfurt.

Reinhard Mey was right: above the clouds, freedom is limitless!

And I'm on my way to my own little freedom right now.

Chapter 2

As I get off the plane and step into the huge airport hall at Dublin Airport, I am overwhelmed by a wave of "Wow, I really did it", "Oh my God, what the hell was I thinking, just running off to a foreign country with no job, no apartment and a very limited budget (I would be able to keep my head above water for the first two weeks in the worst case, but then it's time)" and "Deep breath, you can do it, everything will be fine".

After I have managed to find my way out of the maze of terminals and baggage claim, the adventure continues with the search for the right bus to take me to the right hotel, or at least in the approximate direction.

Overjoyed that my mother persuaded me to book a hotel room for the first few days after all, I fall into bed after a short bus ride and a few steps on foot, absolutely exhausted, and fall fast asleep.

The Clifton Court Hotel is a quaint little bed and breakfast with crooked walls, winding corridors that could also be used as a location for a "Harry Potter" film and tiny rooms with even smaller bathrooms. But it is clean and all in all it has a lot of charm and everything you need to feel at home.

After my short two-hour power nap, it's now dark and I decide to go in search of something to eat.

In the hotel's own pub, I look for the coziest and furthest back corner with the best view of the small pub and the good-humoured guests, and first order a large glass of Guinness. After a portion of fish and chips, a second Guinness, a glass of cider and severaldiscussions with the barman about whether I should drink the second Bowmore or not, I'm glad that my bed is only two floors away.

When I wake up the next morning, I completely regret the whiskey and curse the bartender. After I had started crying miserably and told him about my horrible fiancé, wait, ex-fiancé, he had poured me whiskey numbers three and four and said that I really needed it now.

Another hour of sleep later, with a hangover and the resolution never to touch another drop of alcohol, I set off into the city to look around for jobs and apartments. I had been told that this was the best way to find one of the two or, with a lot of luck, both. And now I'm actually standing right at the entrance to Temple Bar, the pub district in Dublin, in front of a souvenir store with a "Help wanted" sign hanging in the door.

As my English is not the very best, I am turned away from this souvenir store, two others, a small supermarket and a small pub that gives the impression of being more of a meeting place for the local Satanists than a bar. So I make the most of the rest of the day and take a long walk through St. Stephen's Green and realize that this is the first time I've been out and about on my own for ages. And I think it's great! It doesn't scare me, on the contrary, I'm enjoying the fact that I don't know what lies ahead.

Later that evening, I stand in front of my bed, on which I have emptied my travel bag, and put together an outfit that is warm and suitable for going out, as I have decided not to expose myself to the pitying looks of the bartender from last night. When I step out of the hotel door, I've decided on my favorite jeans, a dark green blouse and a knitted vest that could have been used as a picnic blanket if necessary, and march off towards the city centre to Temple Bar. I let the eveninghustle and bustle of the many different people guide me through the district, have a drink bought for me here and there and enjoy the relaxed atmosphere in the streets and pubs. I love observing the different people.

Around midnight, I decide it's time to go "home" and make my way back to the hotel. I take the route over the Ha'penny Bridge, an old pedestrian bridge from the 19th century, because I want to walk for a few minutes in the fresh air away from the hustle and bustle.

I'm lucky, because there aren't many people out and about away from the streets of Temple Bar. Apart from a couple kissing passionately on the bridge in the moonlight and then disappearing into the darkness of the streets on the other side of the Liffey, I don't see anyone. I am able to think in peace and concentrate on my breathing. A renewed sense of freedom suddenly comes over me and I can feel the fresh, cool night air filling my lungs. I realize that I haven't breathed so freely for a very long time. An awareness that makes a tear roll down my cheek. On the one hand, a tear of regret for how carelessly I have treated myself over the last few years, and on the other, a tear of pride that I have finally set out to take my life into my own hands and make my dreams come true.

On the way back to my hotel, I'm still lost in thought when I see a girl, who could be my age, standing in front of a small bar, crying her eyes out. I put my head in my handbag, which isn't actually very big, but in which I always have to rummage around for something, fish out a handkerchief, step in front of the pretty, petite woman and hold the tissue in front of her nose.

"Are you OK?" I ask uncertainly, hoping that she doesn't think I'm being too intrusive. But I can't just walk past people who are crying.

"Do I look like that?" hisses the blonde-haired woman who is just up to the tip of my nose.

Maybe I should have just kept walking ... I stare at her in shock, partly because I had expected a soft, high-pitched voice to match her slight appearance rather than a loud, raspy one.

"I thought you might need help. Excuse me, it's really none of my business." I'm about to turn around and leave when she grabs my arm and holds on tight. My first thought: "Oh my God, now she's going to smack me."

With my eyes squeezed shut, I turn around, my hands positioned protectively in front of my body and hope it passes quickly. Fighting back would be futile, as I would probably even be inferior to a blowfly. I stand there for a few seconds, wondering why nothing is happening, when I suddenly hear a giggle and then a loud laugh. I carefully open one eye, then the other. On closer inspection, the small, fairy-like creature is standing in front of me and laughing. She's laughing, just like that, I think she's laughing at me. What's that all about?

"I'm...sorry bi...please, I didn't mean to...scare you," she blurts out, already out of breath from laughing so hard.

On the one hand, I'm pleased that she obviously wasn't planning to punch me in the face and that she doesn't seem quite as sad as when we first met. (I like to be the laughing stock when I can put a smile back on someone's face). On the other hand, I feel a bit ridiculous. So I wait for Blondie to catch her breath and then look at her in confusion. She obviously realizes at that moment that I don't find the situation quite as amusing as she does. Because when she sees the look on my face, she pulls herself together and stops laughing.

"I'm really sorry, but what exactly did you think I was going to do to you?"

"I thought you wanted to fight me!"

Another fit of laughter.

"I wanted to apologize for snapping at you and thank you for the handkerchief."

"Oh, yes, you're welcome!"

She holds out her hand to me: "Hi, I'm Deirdre."

"My name is Marie."

"So Marie, can you forgive me for my incredibly nice greeting earlier? You definitely caught me on the wrong foot just now, I'm very sorry about that!"