My dear daughter

„Don’t wrap it like this. It’ll break. You have to first take the bubble wrap. Then you wrap it in newspaper. Finally, you secure it with tape. Not too much. If it’s too tight, it’ll break as well.”

Paula’s fingers worked the way her father wanted. The flat was in chaos. Empty boxes, half empty shelves, bags of garbage, bags marked for donation.

How are we ever going to finish till tomorrow?

“Do you think I should take this book along?”

She looked up from her task, wrapping a plate which she couldn’t remember her father had ever used. Her father was leaning heavily on his cane in front of the half empty bookshelf. The tilted shape reminded her of the old cherry tree in the garden. Before they had cut it down, they had supported it with beams for years. She tried to control her facial muscles.

Come on. It’s a big change for him. Be patient.

“Do you think you’re going to translate any Ancient Greek texts?”

“Well, I could. I’ll have more time now. No more laundry. No more cooking. It’ll be like living in a hotel.”

His tone was light, almost teasing. His cheeks were slightly flushed and there was a grin on his lips. Anger bubbled up in Paula. She grabbed another plate and continued wrapping the hideous china.

At least he’s having a good time. It could be worse.

Remembering the long discussions on the phone and in person, Paula decided that she would endure this afternoon as the final act of a long journey.

“Well, if you deem it important, put it in the box. They gave you a limit, right?”

This reminder made her father falter in his steps. He hesitated. His expression turned grim. Paula saw the cane quiver and rushed over.

“How about you sit down, and I bring the books over? Then you can decide what you want to bring.”

“That’s far too complicated. I’m not an invalid. I can walk.”

“I know you can. Just … Maybe we can push the chair over. Then it’ll be easier on your legs.”

Half expecting the retort that his legs were just fine, Paula braced herself. A moment passed in which her father just pulled down the corners of his mouth even further. Then there was some grumbling and Paula was allowed to put one of the chairs next to the shelf.

“Do you remember the limit? If you want I can …”

“I remember. Three boxes of clothes. One box of tableware. Two boxes of personal belongings.”

So, you read the letter in the end. It wouldn’t have hurt to admit that. So ridiculous.

After wrapping the third plate Paula looked over to her father, who was now reading instead of sorting through his books.

At least he’s quiet. I’ll take care of them later.

The small flat was quiet except for the rustling sounds of paper and plastic and the odd flipping of pages. Paula’s fingers itched to grab her phone. Either call Simon or switch on some music. But with a quick glance at the grey man, she didn’t dare to risk either.

Time trickled by. Her father continued reading. He didn’t look up once. Paula finished wrapping the china, moving to the pile of clothes they had brought from the bedroom. Finally, the only thing left were four folders of documents.

Insurance. Insurance. Investment. Need to keep that. Tax ID. Definitely keep that.

Old bills, still dating back to the time her father had been employed. After flipping through the papers on one page a smear of blood appeared. Checking her fingers she saw cracked open skin.

Today’s the last day. I deserve a spa day.

The thought made her smile softly. Thinking about warm water, calming noises and gentle hands massaging her sore body. With a smile on her lips, she wiped the bloody finger a few times on her jeans before continuing her task.

Down to the last folder, she looked up. There hadn’t been the sound of flipping pages for a while. Seeing the scene in front of her, a grin stretched her lips. Like a toddler fighting his nap her father was losing the battle against the warm afternoon sun.

At least no interference from him.

She opened the folder and looked through the papers.

Bills, bills. Oh, look … more bills.

She was almost at the end of the folder, when her quick fingers halted.

Langer Movers? We never moved house.

Looking at the date, she got even more confused.

2000? I was … two. Let’s see. Maybe it was for grandma. She moved to a home as well. It must’ve been around this time, right?

She continued to look through the documents. After a few more bills, she stared at a newspaper clipping.

“Appeal for information about missing woman

After a prolonged search over the weekend, there is still no trace of Marion M. (37) Her husband is involved in the search. He asks the public to help. Last time she was seen she wore black jeans, a pair of red sneakers and a dark blue coat. She is 1,65 m tall and has long blond hair. Any information can be forwarded to the local police station.”

There wasn’t a heart in her chest anymore but a jackhammer. Drowning all other noises. It was just her heartbeat and the newspaper clippings. She skimmed through them and picked another one.

“Acquittal for Christian M.

Half a year after his wife’s disappearance Christian M. (45) was found not guilty being involved in his wife’s disappearance in late April this year. The accused was suspected to have killed his wife and then reported her missing. After the evidence presented the judge couldn’t see any involvement in such a crime by Christian M. The prosecution still insists that Christian M. must be responsible for his wife’s disappearance, but the verdict is rendered and there won’t be another trial.”

Marion M. … But … mother … passed away. What is this …?

A glance at her father, she saw that his eyes were now closed completely. He had lost his fight. His jaw was slack and hung open a bit. A faint snore was audible. The book he had been reading was resting on his lap.

The Great Gatsby.

With cold fingers she flipped through three more clippings. All similar. The missing Marion M. The desperate Christian M. And finally, a heartbroken young Paula M.

Paula closed her eyes.

But … I’ve visited her grave.

Opening her eyes again, she shifted her weight. A white envelope with the distinct red and blue frame almost dropped on the floor.

To Paula

No address. No stamp. But written in a strangely familiar scrawl, the dark letters on the envelope made her sink down in her chair. It wasn’t her father’s writing. But she had seen it before. In photo albums. Before her father had thrown them away.

With shaking hands, she turned around the envelope. The letter had never been opened. The seal was still intact, but the glue was dry. It opened almost as if it had been waiting for her. She expected a waft of old paper smell. A familiar smell of old pages, which could calm her otherwise tumbling thoughts. Instead, a light fragrance of orange and jasmine filled the air around her.

When she pulled at the paper, it resisted. Fighting as if it wanted to keep its secret after the envelope hadn’t shown any resistance. Only after applying some force, the paper tore and she pulled out a single sheet of white paper.

“Dear Paula, how have you been? It’s almost 25 years since I last saw you. Can you believe it? …”