The deadly bite of the tarantula E-Book

Elias J. Connor

• Herausgeber: FINN Books Edition FireFly
• Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025

Beschreibung

Cornelia Schaeffer from Frankfurt am Main – a con artist, inheritance hunter, psychopath, and power-obsessed. Elias Schaeffer – her brother, who has long refused contact with her. A fighter for his rights, who uncovers a huge scandal surrounding her. Elias leads a tranquil existence on the outskirts of Cologne. In his mid-forties, he works conscientiously in the housekeeping department of a large company, enjoys quiet evenings in his own home, and feels completely content. But his carefully constructed equilibrium is shaken when his younger sister, Cornelia from Frankfurt, tries by all means to bring him back to the vibrant metropolis – if necessary by blackmailing him for their deceased parents' supposed inheritance. Just then, Elias meets the cheerful Missy Engels, 24 years young, new to the company, and full of energy. A tender love blossoms between the two, which finally gives Elias the feeling of truly having arrived. But the closer their affection grows, the darker Elias' sister casts a shadow: confidential documents, opaque money flows, and a controversial affair that could not only bring the family into disrepute, but also plunge all of Germany into a major scandal... Exciting, captivating, disturbing. A thriller about power, greed, true love, and vulnerability from the pen of Elias J. Connor. Based on a true story.

Leseprobe

Elias J. Connor

The deadly bite of the tarantula

An exciting, gripping thriller from Elias J. Connor

Dedication

For my girlfriend.

Muse, lifelong companion.

I am very happy that we found each other and stick together in all our lives.

Disclaimer

Although the story described in this novel is based on fact, any resemblance to names, places, companies, numbers, streets, or certain incidents is purely coincidental. Fictional plot lines have been added to the true story on which this novel is based for dramatic purposes.

Chapter 1 - A simple life

I wake up early in the morning as the first faint ray of light penetrates my small, worn window in Cologne. The day begins, as it always does, with a quiet, almost meditative silence that almost envelops me. My name is Elias Schaeffer, I am 48 years old, and I live a modest, almost unremarkable life. While I lie half asleep, I hear the faint sounds of the city slowly emerging from its nightly slumber. In these early hours, Cologne is still quiet—a promise of another day that will be as unspectacular as it is predictable.

I get up, stretch, and begin my morning in a routine that has long been familiar to me. The bathroom is small but clean, and as I rinse my face with cold water, I try to organize the thoughts from last night's dream—they are fleeting, barely tangible, like wisps of fog dissolving in the light. Looking in the mirror, I see a face that bears the traces of years, but also the calm of a man who lives his life in a steady rhythm.

After a simple breakfast—usually a slice of bread with some butter and jam—I head off to work. My job as a housekeeper at the headquarters of a large company is my world. The streets of Cologne are familiar to me; every step, every glance at the old facades and modern glass facades reminds me that life in a big city holds its own quiet secrets. Although my salary isn't high, I find a certain satisfaction in the fact that I carry out my duties punctually and reliably every day.

Arriving at headquarters, I greet the first colleagues with a friendly nod and a quiet "Good morning." The employees know me, and although my role may seem inconspicuous, I'm an integral part of daily office life. I start my workday by cleaning the hallways and offices. The rhythm of vacuuming, mopping the floors, and neatly stowing the cleaning supplies gives me a sense of structure and security. While I'm working, colleagues stop by for a quick chat—it's these fleeting moments of exchange that brighten my day a little.

I remind myself that I've never regretted choosing this quiet, unobtrusive lifestyle. It's a life without major ups and downs, a life in which every action has a fixed, albeit simple, place within the whole. Yet I sometimes wonder if there could be more. Such thoughts come and go, but they usually linger in the background, pushed aside by the routine of everyday life. I tell myself I'm content—and in a way, I believe it, although a quiet restlessness slumbers within me.

The working hours pass in a steady stream. While cleaning the rooms, I often notice small details left behind by employees: a forgotten notebook, a crumpled newspaper, or a pair of forgotten slippers. These small traces of human presence remind me that everyone here has their own story. And I'm usually the silent observer of all these stories, part of the larger mosaic that makes up life at headquarters.

During breaks, I often sit alone in a quiet corner of the building while the others are engaged in lively conversation. I listen, laugh quietly at a good joke, or nod in agreement, but inside I always feel a little detached. It's as if I live in my own little bubble, where the sounds and colors of the world are muted. Nevertheless, I appreciate these moments of silence because they give me time to reflect on my life.

The afternoon passes at a leisurely pace. I alternate between various tasks: sometimes it's the delicate polishing of the glass surfaces, sometimes it's the neat hanging of the curtains in the conference rooms. Every task requires a certain amount of care, and I find a kind of comfort in this care. I'm aware that my work makes an important contribution, even if no one really notices. Perhaps it's this quiet certainty that drives me to give my best day after day.

Towards the end of the workday, I return to the foyer, where I take one last look at the clean, orderly building. I say goodbye to the employees, who once again greet me with friendly smiles. For me, the walk outside is a transition from the orderly office to my own, sometimes chaotic, world of solitude. Outside, the fresh evening air greets me, and I take a deep breath, as if I want to absorb every single moment.

Arriving home, the evening is already in preparation. My small apartment is simply furnished, but it offers me the retreat I need to reflect on the day. I turn on the TV, sit down at my old computer, and open one of the books on my small shelf. The stories I find there transport me to distant worlds where adventure, love, and passion are omnipresent—things that remain largely foreign to my own life. As I read, I almost forget the monotony of my existence for a moment.

For me, the evening is a time for self-reflection. Being alone doesn't just mean loneliness, but also the opportunity to quietly reflect on life. I remember times gone by, missed opportunities, and the countless little moments that make up life. In doing so, I repeatedly ask myself whether I'm truly content. Often, I hear a small voice inside me whispering that there must be more to life than these monotonous days. But then I shake off the thought and calm myself with the familiar comfort of my routine.

My evenings follow an almost ritualistic pattern: First, a glance at the news, then a few chapters of a novel, followed by hours of surfing the internet. It's a life made up of seemingly insignificant moments—and yet, in each of those moments, there's a small story, a piece of me. As I read the lines and watch the flickering screen, I often feel like a silent observer of my own existence, looking from the outside at the life passing by.

There are evenings when I wonder if routine hasn't become a kind of prison. The walls of my apartment sometimes seem to close in, and the familiar shadows dancing across the room remind me that I live in a cage of my own choosing. But it's precisely in this solitude that I also find comfort. For in the silence, I recognize who I truly am—a man who has found his place in the world, even if he is often overlooked.

But then I remember the small joys the day has brought me: the friendly laughter of a colleague, the soothing sound of the vacuum cleaner, the gentle rustling of the pages of a book at dusk. These moments, however inconspicuous, give my life a rhythm that brings me comfort. I'm learning to recognize the beauty in simplicity, and even though my existence may seem dreary from the outside, I discover a small miracle in every day.

On one of these evenings, as I turn my gaze away from the screen after a particularly intense hour of reading, my eyes fall on an old notebook that I started years ago.

The pages are filled with small sketches, thoughts, and fragmentary memories. Although I'm afraid to do so for some inexplicable reason, I leaf through the lines, let the words sink in, and notice how they give me a sense of closeness to my own self. It's as if, through these notes, I'm rediscovering a part of myself that I'd forgotten in the routine of everyday life.

I spend the next few days picking up this notebook again and again. With every line I write, I feel a little freer, as if I'm shedding the silent burden that has accumulated over the years. I begin to openly write down my thoughts—about the quiet longings that dwell in my heart, about the unfulfilled dreams I've long kept buried. It's a small act of rebellion against the monotony, an attempt to find my own voice in the silence.

One morning, as the sky glows a delicate pink, I decide to take a different route to work. It's a small change, but it feels symbolic—a small step in an unknown direction. As I walk through the streets, I watch the people passing by and wonder what stories they carry with them. Everyone seems to live in their own world, trapped in a web of memories, hopes, and fears. And I, Elias Schaeffer, suddenly feel like part of this great, invisible fabric that connects us all.

Arriving at the office, I notice that my changed mood is also affecting my work. I approach my tasks with a fresh perspective – every room I clean seems like a small microcosm, vibrant with life in all its myriad facets. The fleeting conversations with my colleagues seem more intense, as if I now discover more in them than just pleasantries and fleeting encounters. It's as if the change within me is transferring to my perception, allowing me to make the invisible visible.

The days pass, and I notice a new consciousness slowly forming within me. The loneliness that once enveloped me is beginning to dissipate—not because company suddenly enters my life, but because I'm learning to find myself in the simple moments. The quiet hours in the evening, which I once experienced as endless emptiness, now become a space for inner development. While reading, writing, or staring thoughtfully at the flickering screen, I continually discover new facets of myself.

During this time of self-discovery, I recall the words of an ancient poet who once whispered to me that in silence lies the true essence of being. I begin to take these words as my own guide—a reminder that even in life's seemingly unremarkable moments, there lies a deep, unfathomable beauty. The routine of my daily life slowly transforms into a silent dance in which every step, however inconspicuous, is part of a greater whole.

On a rainy evening, as I sit alone in my apartment once again, I feel a strange mixture of melancholy and contentment. The darkness around me is thick, but deep within me, a small light shines, reminding me that, despite all the loneliness and routine, I am alive. I close my eyes, let my thoughts wander, and realize that my life—as simple and unspectacular as it may be—still belongs to me. It is my very own personal universe, orderly, structured, and yet full of quiet secrets.

I am Elias Schaeffer, a quiet observer in a noisy world, a man who has found his own kind of beauty in simplicity. And while the streets of Cologne fill with new faces every day, I remain the same—a small, inconspicuous part of the greater whole, whose quiet rhythm carries me in the silence and reminds me that even in the unspectacular routine, a small piece of eternity lies hidden.

Chapter 2 - The boss

I'm sitting in my small living room, the familiar silence surrounding me, and my heart beats a little faster when I hear the familiar ring of my old telephone. It's late afternoon, and the rain is drumming softly against the windowpanes—an ordinary day, but one that now seems to be turning in a direction I long thought impossible. I take a deep breath and pick up the receiver, knowing it's Cornelia again.

"Elias, my dear," her sharp voice rings out before I can properly greet her. "Have you finally thought about what I've told you so many times? You can't spend your life in this dreary Cologne. Frankfurt needs you—and so do I."

I feel a stiff resistance building within me. I've long known that tone of voice, the relentless control she exudes. I let my gaze wander over the rain-soaked streets, as if seeking solace in the city's dreary beauty, before I answer.

"Cornelia, you know I've found my way here. It may be different than yours, but I'm happy—despite everything."

Her voice almost cuts through the silence of the room.

"Satisfied? Satisfaction is impossible if you want to spend half your life like this! You're not even ready to develop further. A job in Frankfurt is a chance to show your potential. You're wasting your talents here, in this insignificant existence!"

I close my eyes for a moment and think of the many times she has treated me with this patronizing attitude.

"Cornelia, I've chosen what suits me. Frankfurt, with its oppressive pressure, isn't for me. I appreciate the peace and freedom that my life here offers me."

"Freedom? Freedom means responsibility, Elias! You have to come back and take your place. Without me, you'll perish in Cologne," she replies sharply, almost sounding as if she wants to pull the rug out from under me. I hear her voice trembling with anger, and I sense that her words are more than just advice—they're an attempt to control me, to dictate my life as she sees fit.

I sit down on the worn armchair and allow the silence between us to settle before I calmly reply: "I won't let you patronize me, Cornelia. You never understood that I have to go my own way."

The connection falters briefly, as if she's considering my words. Then she bursts out again, her voice even more demanding: "You don't know what's good for you, Elias! Our parents left us everything—you're entitled to more, to the recognition they deserve. You're wasting your inheritance by staying stuck in this small life!"

Her words hit me like a blow. I feel an old anger awakening within me, mixed with disappointment at the repeated attempts to push me in a direction I never felt comfortable with.

"What are you talking about, Cornelia? Our inheritance? You're trying to convince me I owe you something you were never entitled to. I built my life myself—the way I want it. I have plans. I have a future. And I have it here."

At that moment, you can literally feel the tension in the air between us. My sister's voice grows louder, almost demanding.

"You don't understand, Elias! You're a child who, in your naivety, doesn't see that you need me to find your way. I know what's best for us. Come back to Frankfurt, take the job at the company I've chosen for you—and finally show that you're worth something!"

I lean back, let my gaze wander over the gray clouds above Cologne, and feel a deep pain spreading within me. This constant manipulation, this incessant harassment—they have pierced my heart and left scars I can't easily forget.

"Cornelia, I won't come back just to fit your expectations. I know who I am, and I know what I want. Your job isn't my path. And your constant attempts to control me are making me sick," I say firmly.

There's a long pause, with only the sound of rain in the background. Then she replies, almost hissing: "You are and will always be so stubborn, Elias. But you'll see that you'll regret it if you don't listen to me." Her words sound like a promise, not one of reconciliation, but rather one wrapped in sinister control.

"I regret nothing," I reply, my voice firm but shaking inside with suppressed anger. "And if you continue to try to manipulate me and withhold money that's rightfully mine—be it through our inheritance or whatever—then I'll separate from you. I won't let you tell me how to live anymore."

A quiet laugh, bitter and almost mocking, comes from the line. It almost sounds as if Cornelia can't stop laughing—sardonic, mocking.

"Money? You have no idea what you're talking about. I'm just doing you a favor by trying to get you on the right path."

I snort in disgust.

“You are still a child who cannot take care of yourself,” she continues.

I feel my heart rate quicken and I suppress the urge to scream out all the years of humiliation in a single moment.

"I'm not a child, Cornelia. I've taken my life into my own hands, and I know what I'm doing. If you try to withhold my money, if you manage to blackmail me financially—then I'll cut off all contact with you forever."

The silence returns, heavy and oppressive. I hear the faint rasp of her voice as she hesitantly tries to speak.

"Elias, please... You know I mean well. I just want you to stop staying so... so stuck." Her voice sounds almost desperate, as if she's trying to change my mind after all.

I let the words sink in and answer calmly but firmly: "No, Cornelia. You want to control me, and I can see through your game. I feel like you're withholding more money from me than I'm entitled to—as if you're manipulating me to consolidate your power over me. I won't tolerate this any longer."

For a moment, it seems as if she's holding her breath, then a sharp: "What does that mean, Elias? You are and will always be an ingrate!"

Her words bounce off me, and I feel a decision forming within me.

"I'll say it again," I begin, my voice growing firmer as I try to say it to myself, "I will no longer allow myself to be patronized by you. I decide what's best for me, and if you continue to try to withhold money and manipulate me, then I will cut off contact. I don't want to be your plaything anymore."

Another pause follows, during which the sound of the rain and the distant roar of Cologne's streets fill the room. I feel a mixture of relief and sadness spreading within me—relief because I've finally made my position clear, and sadness because I know there's hardly any path to reconciliation between us.

"Elias, you're misunderstanding," Cornelia finally says, her voice softer but still laced with a hint of authority. "I've always just tried to help you. You know that without me, everything would erupt in chaos. You're incapable of coping on your own—and that's exactly what I want to change."

"You say you want to help me, but it feels like you want to control me," I reply, feeling the old wounds reopen. "I'm 48 years old, Cornelia. I've learned to take care of myself. I don't need your help—and I don't need control over my life either. I'm not a child who constantly demands your advice."

"But you're so naive," she protests, her voice rising. "Naive if you think life here in Cologne is the right place for you. In Frankfurt, you'll grow up, you'll finally inherit what's rightfully yours. You're just letting all these opportunities slip away."

"I don't let opportunities pass me by," I reply sharply. "I consciously choose what's important to me. And what's important to me is living my life the way I want—without constant interference from you."

For a moment, there's complete silence on the other end of the line. I hear her breathing heavily.

"Elias, you're really driving me crazy," she finally says, a hint of despair in her voice. "I'm doing all this because I'm worried about you. You're going down the wrong path."

"No, Cornelia," I say calmly, "I'm going my own way. And if you continue to try to harass me by withholding money and trying to force me back to Frankfurt, that will be the last straw. I will then break away from you—for good."

I slowly hang up the phone and lean back. A feeling of relief mingles with deep sadness within me. It's not that I don't want to have contact with my sister—it's more of an attempt to free myself from her clutches, which have oppressed me repeatedly since our parents died. The memory of our childhood, when Cornelia was always in control of everything and everyone, returns to me, and I wonder if there can ever truly be a path to reconciliation if she doesn't learn to respect me as an equal.

In the days that follow, I notice that something has changed within me. I become calmer, finding comfort in the routine and the small moments that life offers me in the familiar quiet of my apartment in Cologne. But the shadow of Cornelia's words remains—a reminder that I am no longer willing to allow myself to be incorporated into her oppressive plans.

One rainy morning, I'm sitting at my kitchen table, a cup of tea in front of me, when my phone vibrates again. This time it's not a direct message, but a text message. I open it and read Cornelia's short, impetuous words.

"Elias, I expect you to be in Frankfurt tomorrow at 10 a.m. We need to talk—in person."

A shiver runs down my spine. Frankfurt? The thought of it makes me feel anxious. I know it's Cornelia's usual way of forcing such a decision on me. But something inside me tells me this is more than just an attempt to control me. Perhaps there's something behind it that I've overlooked.

I decide to reply and type slowly: "Cornelia, I already told you I'm not coming to Frankfurt. I have my life here, and I won't let you force me to do something I don't want to do."

There's no response at first, and the next few hours pass in oppressive silence as I reflect on our relationship and the accusations. I keep asking myself whether Cornelia, in her quest for control, might also be trying to withhold money from me—money that might be due to me because I have a share of our parents' inheritance, from which she's trying to profit.

I remember old receipts and documents I collected after our parents' deaths. She repeatedly insisted that she take care of our financial affairs—a compulsion that always worried me. Now that she wants to force me back to Frankfurt, I wonder if there's more she's keeping from me.

Later that afternoon, I sit down at my old PC and open the digitized documents stored in dusty folders on my desktop. I scroll through the files listing the inheritance shares and our account transactions. I notice that amounts that I'm convinced belong to me are repeatedly missing. A stabbing pain spreads through me—it's as if I've been betrayed all these years while Cornelia exerted her power over me in the distance.

The next morning dawns, gray and rainy, and I mentally prepare myself for what may come. The phone rings again – it's Cornelia. With a steady breath, I answer.

"Elias, you really have to come to Frankfurt tomorrow. It's important," she urges.

“Cornelia, I told you I wasn’t coming,” I answer calmly but firmly.

"You will come, Elias. I have already prepared everything. You will see that it is best for you."

"No, Cornelia. I will not contribute to your game. I have begun to have my records examined. I will not allow myself to be deceived by you any longer."

A brief, tense moment passes before she replies, almost angrily: "You don't understand, Elias! You're my brother, and I only want the best for both of us. But when you act like this, you only show that you're weak."

"Weak?" I ask coldly. "I show strength by standing up for myself. I will no longer allow you to control me or withhold my money."

My sister's voice abruptly trails off. "You'll regret this, Elias. You'll soon realize that you're lost without my guidance."

"Maybe," I reply curtly. "But I'm going to go my own way—and if that means we grow apart, then so be it."

After the phone call, I put the phone down and feel a mixture of relief and sadness rising within me. I know this is a turning point—that I'm finally freeing myself from Cornelia's intrusive control. Over the next few days, I focus on continuing my life in Cologne, conscientiously doing my job, and enjoying the little joys of everyday life. But the thought of the unresolved questions regarding the inheritance and the feeling of having been cheated haunt me.

I sit down at my desk to go through the documents again, carefully documenting every suspicion and every discrepancy. It's a laborious process that takes me deep into old memories and painful experiences. Again and again, moments resurface in which Cornelia's demanding words and icy glare resonate within me. But with each document I meticulously mark up, the conviction grows within me that I no longer have to be the passive recipient of her power play.

One evening, as I sit alone in my apartment again, the rain pelting against the windows, I receive another message from Cornelia—this time an email accusing me of being ungrateful and refusing her help. Her words are sharp, full of accusations and a deep sense of superiority. I read them several times until I realize that she's not just fighting for my presence in Frankfurt, but also for control over every aspect of my life.

In a moment of inner clarity, I type a reply, once again unequivocally telling her that I make my own decisions and that I will cut off contact if she continues to try to manipulate me. I click "Send" and feel some of the pressure lift from me—even though I'm aware that this is the beginning of a long argument.

The next few weeks pass at a brisk pace. I work tirelessly at headquarters, finding comfort in the familiar routines and friendly chats with colleagues, who often offer me more of a connection than Cornelia's constant calls and messages. But in quiet moments, when I sit alone in front of the flickering light of my PC, I wonder if I've chosen the right path.

With each passing day, I feel my inner self becoming more solid. I no longer feel like the helpless brother Cornelia always tried to control, but rather like a man forging his own path—even if that path sometimes seems lonely and rocky. The documents I've collected and my contact with my lawyer give me confidence that I will no longer allow myself to be exploited.

Late one afternoon, when the sky is a deep gray and the streets of Cologne seem almost eerily empty, I receive a call from my lawyer friend, whom I've known for years. Recently, we were talking about my sister in a café, and he promised to do some research.

In a calm tone, he tells me that there are indications that Cornelia has indeed attempted to tamper with funds due to me. There is evidence that proves that she not only used contact with me as leverage, but also attempted to enrich herself financially – at the expense of my rights.

I take a deep breath and feel a mixture of relief and anger spreading through me.

"That's what I always suspected," I say quietly. "It's not just about the job or control. It's about my money, my inheritance—what's rightfully mine."

"Exactly, Elias," my lawyer confirms. "We will now take all necessary steps to protect your assets and your rights. You don't have to let her intimidate you any longer."

These words ring like a wake-up call. It's as if I've finally regained control over a part of my life that had repeatedly slipped away. That very evening, while sitting in my small study, I call Cornelia—not to apologize or make peace, but to tell her clearly and unequivocally that I've had enough.

“Cornelia, I spoke to my lawyer today,” I say in a firm, calm tone.

“What do you mean by that, Elias?” Her voice is frozen, as if she can’t believe what she’s hearing.

"I'm telling you, I will no longer tolerate your manipulation. You tried to control me and withhold my money—and I won't allow that anymore."

A brief silence follows, then her voice hisses: "Elias, you don't understand. I'm only doing this out of love—out of concern for you!"

"Love?" I retort sharply. "Love doesn't compel you to control or exploit someone. I'm not a child anymore, Cornelia. I decide for myself what's good for me. And I'm telling you: If you don't stop this immediately, I'll cut off contact—for good."

I hear her voice falter as she tries to come up with a suitable objection. But I persist. "For too long, I've allowed you to interfere in my life as if you were the sole arbiter. From now on, I belong to myself. And if you continue to try to bully me and exploit me financially, there's no going back."

There's a stiff tone in her response, and I notice she's wrestling with the consequences of my words. "Elias, you'll regret this. You are and will always be my brother. You can't just drop everything!"

"Maybe I am," I say quietly, "but I won't allow you to dictate my life any longer. I have my own worth, and I'm going to reclaim it—even if that means cutting you out of my life."

After I hang up, I sit in my chair for a long time, letting the silence sink in. It feels like the beginning of something new—a fresh start, where I'm finally breaking free from the shackles of old, painful dependencies. I know it won't be an easy path. Cornelia controlled me for years, and the wounds she left behind run deep. But I also feel hope that I can now follow my own path, free from manipulation and exploitation.

I spend the next few weeks getting my affairs in order. I meet with my lawyer, discuss every single point, sift through old documents, and discover that there are indeed numerous discrepancies. The more I delve into the details, the clearer it becomes to me that Cornelia wasn't acting solely out of concern, but out of pure desire for power. Every signature, every detail, seems designed to weaken me financially and strengthen her own position.

In a quiet moment, standing on my apartment balcony, gazing over the rainy rooftops of Cologne at night, I feel a sense of liberation rising within me. I remember the many nights I sat alone, lost in my thoughts, wishing someone would understand me. Today I know that it's not about being understood, but about staying true to yourself.

The next morning, my phone rings again—a call I've been expecting for a while. It's Cornelia, this time without warning, but with a tone that seems less demanding and more resigned. "Elias, I... I just wanted to ask if we could maybe talk," she begins hesitantly.

“Why, Cornelia?” I ask, trying to keep the cool distance in my voice.

“I know I’ve done a lot of things wrong,” she says, almost whispering, “but I don’t want us to lose each other forever.”

I hear her voice breaking, as if she's begging for forgiveness. But inside me, a firm resolve mixes with the sadness of all those years of control.

"Cornelia, I know you have your own motives," I answer slowly, "but I can't pretend anymore that everything is fine. You've tried to control me, withhold my money, and force me into a life I don't want. And that hurts me—deeply."

There's a long silence before she says, "Elias, I never wanted you to suffer like this. I thought I was doing this for your own good. But maybe I was wrong."

"Maybe," I say, "but it's too late to undo the past. I've decided to go my own way—and that means I have to break away from you if you're not ready to accept me as I am."

"Please, Elias," she almost begs, "give us another chance. We're siblings—we should support each other."

I sigh deeply and reply, "Sibling love doesn't mean controlling or exploiting each other. It means giving each other space and accepting each other as independent people. If you can't understand that, then I have no choice but to end contact—at least for a while."

“Elias, please…” she tries again, but her words fade away in the oppressive silence that lies between us.

"I've made my decision, Cornelia. I can't allow you to continue controlling my life. I wish you all the best, but I have to go my own way."

The call ends, and I hang up, the gravity of the moment sinking in. It's a goodbye accompanied not by noise or anger, but by a deep, painful peace—a peace that comes from the realization that I will no longer be a victim.

The next few days pass in a state of inner clarity and melancholy. I know that it takes time to heal the wounds of the past and that I need to rediscover myself in silence. The work at headquarters, the conversations with my colleagues, the evening rituals of reading and writing – all of this gives me stability and shows me that I can lead a fulfilling life even without Cornelia's insistent presence.

A few weeks later, I meet with my lawyer in a small office in Cologne to discuss the final steps of the legal dispute. I show him the documents I've gathered and listen attentively as he explains the next steps. It feels like I'm finally regaining control over what's mine—not just the money, but also the confidence to make my own decisions.

During these conversations, a quiet sense of contentment spreads within me, telling me that I've chosen the right path. I realize that I no longer have to let the past define me, and that I, Elias Schaeffer, find the strength to live my own life, even in the midst of loneliness and pain.

In the evening, as the rain patters on the rooftops and the city is bathed in a dim light, I sit at my old computer again, reading my books and writing in my notebook—all the little rituals that have made me who I am. In these moments, I feel a quiet strength that tells me that I know my own worth and that I will not allow anyone to oppress me.

I remember the words I once read in an old novel: “Freedom begins where you have the courage to assert yourself.”

These words echo within me as I slowly let the pen glide across the paper and put my thoughts into words – words that speak of pain, but also of hope.

It's a long road, and I know the scars of the past won't heal easily. But in every line I write, in every encounter with the people in my daily life, I find a small victory over the old, painful patterns. I choose to no longer live my life as a victim, but as the creator of my own future.

And so a new chapter begins—one in which I learn to free myself from the shackles of control and stand in my own truth. I know that Cornelia may always remain a part of my past, but I choose not to allow her to determine my future any longer.

As I continue my life in Cologne over the next few months, I notice a new sense of self-determination taking root within me. I get involved in small projects, rediscover old hobbies, and allow myself to be touched by life's quiet joys. The streets of Cologne, which once seemed merely a backdrop to my loneliness, now reveal new facets to me—places where I can feel free and unattached.

In one of these new chapters, I meet an old acquaintance who, in a brief conversation, says to me: “Elias, there’s something different about you lately—a kind of calm that I’ve been missing for a long time.”

I just smile weakly and answer, "I've learned that I'm no longer going to let the past control me. Each of us has the right to choose our own path."

These words, as simple as they sound, contain the essence of my new self-confidence.

The evenings I now spend in my little home are filled with a quiet contentment. I read books, write in my notebook, and enjoy the peace that comes with those quiet hours. And as the rain continues to patter softly against the windows, I know that I have discovered my own worth—beyond control, beyond my sister's insistent words.

So I close another chapter by finally breaking away from Cornelia's manipulations. I know there will still be many challenges, but I am ready to walk this path alone. Because I now realize that true freedom lies in respecting oneself and making one's own decisions – without constant interference.

I, self-confident and with renewed strength, now stand on the threshold of a new life. A life marked by loneliness and occasional melancholy, but also by the quiet power that lies in self-determination. And so I look to the future, not with fear of the unknown, but with the confidence that—even without Cornelia's harassing attempts—I will find my own way.

The days in Cologne, which once seemed so dull and monotonous, are now filled with a quiet glow that comes from the knowledge that I am free. Free to make my own decisions, free from the intrusive control and manipulation that have taken my breath away for so long. And as the streets of Cologne quietly pulse in the twilight, I know that I have my life back in my hands—with all its ups and downs, with all the pain and quiet hope that continue to drive me onward.

In the silence of my nights, when I sit alone in front of my computer, leafing through old writings and memories, I hear the sound of my own voice telling me: "I am Elias Schaeffer. I control my life. And no one—not even Cornelia—will take that away from me."

These words resonate within me, becoming the melody of a new phase of my life, in which I'm learning that true strength lies not in blind obedience, but in courageously standing up for oneself. And so I continue writing my story—a story that now tells of self-determination, of quiet rebellion against old power structures, and of the hope for a free, authentic life.

As I write these lines, I feel the shadows of the past slowly fading, making room for a new morning. A morning that promises me that I am enough just as I am—and that my life, even if it appears inconspicuous and simple from the outside, is in fact full of depth and meaning.

I lean back, look out the window at the rain-soaked streets of Cologne, and smile quietly. It's a smile of recognition and peace—a smile that says, "I am here. I am me. And I will go my way—in my own way, with all my faults and all my strengths."

---ENDE DER LESEPROBE---