– Because of you," she adds.

Ah, that's it. That's what this walk is for.

– Come on. She's always unhappy about something," I reply ironically.

– Maria, what you did was disgusting to your sister. You're well aware that she loves Markus Morgan. But you were flirting with him.

– I was just having a bit of fun. I didn't think Mariszka would cry about it," I say in an indifferent tone.

I don't have an ounce of regret in my soul.

– I know you've never felt sisterly love for each other. And that saddens me. But I am not asking you to love her. I'm asking you to respect her feelings. Her love. – Mum's voice suddenly trembles and tears appear in her eyes.

It makes me uncomfortable. It scares me.

– Mum… – I touch her shoulder, but she doesn't react to my gesture.

– You can't understand how she suffers. Unrequited love is the worst thing that can happen to us," she says with feeling.

I don't say anything. I'm struggling with two feelings: pride and love for my mother.

– Forgive me," I finally say quietly.

– It's not me you should apologise to, but your sister.

– It's beyond me.

– She's your sister!

– Mum, please! – I exclaim insistently and turn my back to her. – I promise I won't flirt with him again. That's enough, but don't make me apologise to her! Because that's never going to happen!

– Why are you so soulless? Why am I such a bad mother that I have failed to teach my daughters to love each other? – In a voice full of longing, Mum says.

This sentence makes me turn round to her.

A tear rolls down Mum's cheek. She wipes away this moisture with the palm of her hand, covered with a black silk glove.

I see her tears for the first time in my life.

It's unbearable.

Mum's crying.

A terrible shame eats at me.

I take Mum's palm in mine and press it to my lips.

I don't know how to comfort her. But I won't vow to seek Mariszka's forgiveness. Ever.

***

That memory came to me with the second stupor I had on the plane.

It's weird. I'd never thought about the past before. And the memory was a nightmare. A nightmare, a brutal truth that caught up with me after all these years.

My body, my soul, my brain was filled with the same horrifyingly intense feeling of shame that I had felt that night over a century ago. I grabbed the smartphone lying on the bedside table and typed a message to my mum: "I'm sorry for everything. You're the best mum in the world. It's not your fault your daughter is the worst daughter in the world."

One touch, and that message would fly to my mother like a dove of peace, like the belated repentance of her ungrateful daughter.

But my pride prevented me from making the gesture. So I erased the message, threw the smartphone in my lap, and leaned back in the first-class seat of the plane that carried me on its iron wings home to Toronto.

"'Wasn't it you who cursed me, Mariszka? I am now in your position! But unlike you, only I will know of my misfortune. I won't let anyone do to me what I did to you! – I thought with irritation. – I can't be alone with myself… I can't wait to land in Toronto already.

I hate long journeys and frequent changes of planes. But getting from Gdansk to Toronto is a whole system. Gdansk to Berlin to Reykjavik to Montreal to Toronto. Twenty-nine hours. Just dropped out of my life. Twenty-nine hours of thinking and wasted time. Nothing useful. Just wasted hours.

When the plane finally landed in Toronto, it turned out that my suitcase with my camera and all my stuff was stuck in Reykjavik and wouldn't arrive for another twenty hours. In response to this information, I just shrugged my shoulders helplessly. But I'm an avid traveller, so all my suitcases have special tags with my name and contact details, and the airport staff have promised to deliver my suitcase directly to my flat as soon as it arrives at the airport.

But there was one bright spot in all this pun: despite the spontaneity and lack of other flights, I was lucky enough to arrive in Toronto at ten in the evening.

My car was waiting for me in the airport car park. Very convenient.

Toronto! Hello, my favourite city! Full of life and lights! How nice it is to drive your roads in the evening! How nice to hear all the noise and clamour and see all the many mortals! How I missed you so much, even though I only parted from you for a short while!

The drive home from the airport did little to dispel my gloomy thoughts, but as I drove up to the penthouse, I was displeased to discover that my neighbour, the very same Troy, was having a raucous party. So before I reached the car park, I made a sharp U-turn and headed for the nightclub. But I couldn't forget. As soon as I started kissing the victim, I was suddenly so disgusted that I threw the admirer away from me and, stunned by the feelings of filth and contempt that engulfed me, I almost ran out of the club, got into my car and raced home at breakneck speed. Embraced by a feeling I'd never known before: self-loathing.

And I didn't care about Troy and his party!

Home… Home!

"What am I gonna do? What the hell am I supposed to do? I'm going crazy!" – I thought feverishly as I drove down the road, gripping the steering wheel of the car with nervous fingers. – How do I escape from myself? Where do I run to? To whom?"

– Get out of my way! – I shouted irritably, hitting the signal button, and then swerved into oncoming traffic, whizzing past a row of cars. – Idiots!

Some of them honked at me, but I didn't care. Then I turned onto the street I wanted and tried to get my thoughts in the right direction.

"I know who I can forget everything that's troubling me with. Misha. My darling Misha!" I suddenly decided. – I'll book a ticket to Stockholm as soon as I get to the flat. I won't tell her. And even if Fredrik is there, I don't care! I don't care about the camera in my suitcase in Reykjavik, I don't care about anything! I need to hug my Misha, my sunshine. Listen to her, listen to her like a bird. She will heal my wounds with her singing."

After reaching the penthouse and receiving a hefty speeding ticket from a traffic officer, I reached my flat in a couple of seconds, switched on my MacBook, which I always had with me in my bag, and booked tickets to Stockholm. The closest flight was in four hours. Business class. No luggage. I didn't have time to pack a suitcase. And I didn't have a spare suitcase. That's weird. I fly so often. I should have got one… Anyway, it doesn't matter.

I was wearing a short leopard-striped dress, a short leather jacket, black boots on high thick heels. A bag with my documents, smartphone and MacBook. That's all I need.

Ahead is the loss of a part of my life again. The long journey back to Europe. Once again, flying halfway across the world back for salvation. To Misha.

Toronto – Boston – Reykjavik – Stockholm. I'll be there at 12 noon.

At the airport I checked the weather in Stockholm: it's going to be clear, warm and sunny.

But I don't care. Besides, it's not a problem at all.

Upon landing in Stockholm, I texted Misha a brief, "Are you home?"

"We're at the cottage on Venerna," she replied succinctly.

Shit. So they're not in their Stockholm home, but in the cottage where they lived before moving to the capital. The lake house. We'll have to go there.

"Are you in Stockholm?!" – came a new message from Misha a couple of seconds later.

I stopped at the airport exit, avoiding the sunlight falling just a metre away from me. I needed a car with tinted windows. But I didn't see one in the taxi rank. Without thinking, I called the right place, and half an hour later, a limousine came to pick me up. With almost black windows. I asked the driver to park as deep in the shadows of the airport as possible, and the people around me watched in amazement as I quickly got into the car.