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slowed. I stretched, clenching and unclenching my fingers until I managed to breathe normally and was composed again.
    I couldn’t stand it when this happened. I still hadn’t regained complete control over my body or my emotions. I particularly hated it when it happened in front of my parents. They had already suffered more than enough for me. They didn’t need my tantrums and emotional chaos on top of everything else. Warily, I glanced at my mother, then took another ten breaths. Finally, I was able to speak without animosity and anger in my voice.
    “I need distance.” With both arms, I gestured around the room. “Distance from everything. I know, or at least I think I know, that this is for the best. Please try to understand that,” I implored.
    She looked at me, her green eyes showing so many emotions—grief, fear, compassion, care—all because of her daughter. I looked away. I didn’t want to see her sorrow.
    She and my dad had tried to persuade me not to go on this trip. Especially my mom. My dad had given up after only a short while. He knew I would leave, no matter what they said. After all, I had inherited his stubbornness. Once I’d made up my mind, it was like talking to a wall.
    In certain situations, this stubbornness was a blessing. It helped me reach my goals. It was the reason I had finished my studies in no time and with straight As. It had led me into the perfect job.
    But in other situations, the obstinacy was counterproductive.
    It was partly to blame for my sadness, which was a considerable obstacle. How could I move past it? Was I capable of eliminating what stood in my way? Maybe the solution to coming to terms with my future lay in my stubbornness. Yet I had no clue where to even begin looking for myself.
    And I wasn’t sure whether something that I’d soon lose forever anyway would be worth searching for, worth any struggle at all.
    Yet I had set my mind to make this trip. I simply had to do it. I needed time. Time for myself. Time away from everything that made me so bitchy and bitter. The self I had become was a stranger to me, and I didn’t like that stranger. I wanted her to disappear. But she wouldn’t. Each new day seemed to bring a fight that I was bound to lose.
    I sighed and walked over to my mom. I looked at her for a long time. She didn’t move. Clumsily, I hugged her.
    The way forward was going to be difficult for all of us.
    I was scared.
    I was afraid to be alone after what had happened during the past year.
    I was afraid of what this new life would look like.
    I was afraid I wouldn’t find my way back to my real self.
    I was afraid of what would happen should I find it.
    I was afraid I would never find it and never come back.
    “I’m so sorry, Mom,” I murmured, my lips pressed against her hair.
    “Ah, Mia . . .” She pulled me closer. “Take care of yourself. Promise to be in touch as often as you can.”
    I promised I would. Definitely.
    I knew my parents were worried. They were scared, concerned I was still too fragile to travel.
    I understood. I wasn’t sure I had the stamina, either. No clue at all, to be precise. But if I didn’t try, I would never know. I just had to go.
    It would be only one month. One month across Europe by train. Alone. Just me and myself. It was time to get out of here.
    My mother loosened her embrace and stroked my hair. The short, thin hair on my head.
    Instantly, I flinched, and my heartbeat accelerated. My whole body went on red alert. I didn’t like anyone to touch me there. I hated my scalp. What adorned it now reminded me of a baby’s fuzz. Fine, thin, no style. Away from home, I hid my head under a knitted hat, which I took off only when I was here, so only my parents knew how I really looked. I’d learned that with the hat off, people stared. I always eluded their gazes. They made me feel naked. True, some people looked at me with compassion, but I didn’t want them to look at me at all. Even I couldn’t stand to look