Chapter 4: The Taste of Reconstruction

Chapter 4: The Taste of Reconstruction

The pain is still there, but today it has changed form. It's no longer a storm that drowns me, but a low tide that allows me to walk. Back in my little log cabin in Vik, with the smell of damp pine and the constant sound of the sea hitting the cliffs, I decided it was time to take a step. A small step of life.

I stood in front of the mirror and, for the first time in months, I didn't look away with contempt. I reached through the suitcase and took out sportswear; a pair of leggings and a jacket that fit my body, highlighting what God gave me, the curves that Anthony stopped looking at and that I myself had forgotten I possessed. I plucked up the courage, tied my hair up and walked to the nearby supermarket.

As I entered, the shock of routine hit me. I started walking the aisles automatically, reaching out to the brands he liked, to the large portions, planning menus for two. Until I stopped short in the middle of the fresh aisle. I looked at my hands and a sharp realization ran through my body: Why buy so much if I am alone now? There was no man to please, no cooking for the taste of others, no tolerating criticism, no complying with other people's schedules. I left the family packaging and started choosing just for myself. I bought fresh ingredients, spices he didn't like, local seafood, and a nice bottle of wine.

Returning to the cabin to cook under my own rules was a sacred ritual. I cooked for my delight, for my absolute enjoyment. I uncorked the bottle, poured myself a glass of wine, and moved around the kitchen without thinking about the past, without shedding a single tear. I lived it. I experienced the heat of the stove and the aroma of garlic and herbs in the air. They are small great achievements that for an ordinary person would be insignificant, even ridiculous. But for me they are the foundations of a reconstruction. It is to be born again. It is learning to live again from scratch. As I served the dish, I laughed to myself in the silence of the kitchen. For the first time in fifteen years, I didn't feel alone; I felt with myself.