Chapter 30: The True Meaning of the Word Home

Chapter 30: The True Meaning of the Word Home

After several hours of intense work cleaning the furniture, tidying up the rooms, washing accumulated textiles and scrubbing every corner of the kitchen, the house finally felt like a home. It's a strange and revealing feeling. You realize the paradox you carry in your body: you spent fifteen years living in a place where you thought you had a home, but in reality you were a complete stranger, a ghost that molded itself to other people's walls. And now, in a house that technically isn't yours, in a country you're just discovering, you feel sheltered for the first time.

We showered in separate bathrooms to wash away the accumulated dust and the remnant of tiredness that was beginning to take its toll. As we step out into the room, we find ourselves in front of each other wearing comfortable sportswear. The identical reflection of our work faces provoked a joint laugh that broke the last trace of solemnity in the atmosphere.

In a light mood, we left the house on foot to make our first purchase together. Walking through the streets of Akureyri was a magical experience. Ethan would walk beside me, pointing to the buildings, telling me about the history of the places, and patiently helping me pronounce the basic Icelandic words: found for hello, takk for thanks, and little daily turns. Thus officially began our journey in this new land.

I know perfectly well what people who look at my story from the outside will think. They will ask, "How can you blindly trust a person you met so recently ago? How dare you move in and live with a man you barely know?". It is a logical doubt for the common world. But when you live through the hell that I lived, when you are despised and rebuilt from the ashes, you learn to look people straight in the eye. There is a silent language in the gaze of the fallen; You can tell right away if that person is trustworthy or not. And Ethan is. I know deep down that I can trust him without reservation.