I own nothing but a disturbing obsession.

We both stayed relatively quiet during the short drive to Angela's home. I was for a minute afraid I might have to talk endlessly, to express myself, to describe who I was, who I'd become, as it is often required when two friends, who were once close, meet again. I didn't have the necessary mood; I felt too tired, physically and mentally, to fill the inside of that small car with goofy exclamations, light banter and girly chatter. I feared those awkward silent moments, when you remain all of a sudden out of neutral subjects of conversation and don't know if it's appropriate to approach more intimate matters or to keep it safe on the more formal side.

It was the same prospect that made me feel bored and annoyed in advance from only considering attending high school or college reunions or any other similar gatherings. I hated everything: the forced laughter, the hypocritical praising, the unavoidable sting of envy, the furtive weighing of other people's social position, conjugal happiness, financial success, criteria that were, in themselves, frivolous and hallow. The harder the display, the deeper the charade.

But I'd forgotten it was Angela I was thinking about, who'd always been discreet, private and tactful. It had been easy to be myself near her in the past and apparently, that was the case now as well, because she had yet to pounce upon me with an avalanche of insistent questions. She'd been so far paying attention to the road, driving slowly and explaining to me that the fines were so big in that country and the social disapproval so powerful, that reckless driving was of rare occurrence. Nobody was in a hurry there, and in fact, that observation on traffic behavior could be extrapolated over greater, more abstract situations. As a general rule, any problem had its solution as long as you were patient. I wondered briefly if there was a hidden message for me in her last remark.

I slowly began to relax, and felt no longer rude by being silent. I furtively examined her and asked myself how in the world had she managed to build from scratch a new life for her and her daughter, in an unfamiliar culture, surpassing the language barrier, the fears and the isolation? "She must have been so vulnerable and traumatized then and, at the same time, so strong and determined!" I thought admiringly. Perhaps this is the kind of strength simultaneously given with the responsibility of raising a child. If she succeeded, maybe I could too

"Except for the fact that Angela had her daughter to be strong for, my dear…You have nothing." The scoffing voice had returned and I felt my sternum burning again with the familiar pain. It was true, though. Indeed, I had nothing. After years of marriage, I'd left carrying nothing but a treasure chest full of emotions and memories.

Was I, at least, a better person now? Did I grow, did I evolve as a human being? I doubtfully shook my head while staring blindly at the road ahead. This wasn't a good moment for either advancing theories or asking rhetorical questions. I should concentrate on being a pleasant guest, because I couldn't embarrass Angela even more. However, she caught my gesture and asked with a smile:

"What is it?"

"Nothing."

"You looked like you were having a dialogue with yourself," she insisted.

"Actually, I'm amazed by you. I can only guess how difficult must have been for you to come here and I don't know…reinvent yourself?"

"I've hardly done that!" she said laughing. "I'm the same person I used to be, Bella… Older maybe, wiser, but still the same."

I remained ostentatiously silent.

"Okay. It wasn't always easy," she admitted with a soft sigh; however, the glance she gave me was bright and sparkly. "But I feel just fine, now. I've reached a point where I'm content and comfortable with my current condition here. I feel accepted, I've acclimatized, if I may say so, and I've freed myself from the discomfort, the worries and the problems attached to my past."

"You look well, too." I observed simply.

Soon enough, we reached our destination. She lived 12 miles away from Stockholm, in a small town spread out on an island and surrounded by a large number of similar islands, forming together an archipelago. Angela had said that the region was more easily accessible by water than by land and that it was one of the most exclusive areas for vacation houses in Sweden. Surprisingly though, because it didn't strike me as luxurious; what's more, it didn't even seem appropriate to call that settlement a 'town', since it was rather a large village, everything about it having a rural appearance.

We entered her two-bedroom apartment and she radiantly showed me around. It was incredibly bright and airy, of a simple elegance, whites, creams and light blues in pale shades being used on almost any surface. The resulting effect was one of instant peace and tranquility.

I was truly amazed, much to my host's delight. The Swedes, Angela proudly told me, like their nearby neighbors in Norway, have long been known for a rather unique decoration style characterized by simplicity. The dark winters and early nights of Sweden were seemingly the cause for their preferences to light colors, bright lighting and unfinished woods.

However, her bedroom was the one that really left my mouth hanging open. It held nothing but a large, square, white bed. The white walls and the bed. Nothing else. It was stark, austere and bereft of color.

"Your bedroom looks like a place of perpetual penitence…" I observed in a small voice.

"Yeah… This room isn't quite finished. We moved here only a few months ago. This is where you'll be sleeping, though. I hope it's alright…" Angela said, watching me with a worried expression.

"Of course it is, Angela! I was just taken by surprise, it seems so… I don't know…monastic?"

Angela started to laugh and lively added: "I have no intention of turning myself into a nun, Bella! I like men too much!"

She finished giving me the tour then helped carrying my substantial luggage into my new room.

"Bella, I must return to work. I'm sorry for leaving you like that, but I'll take tomorrow and the day after tomorrow off, so I can accommodate you better, and hopefully, after the following weekend, you'll be able to manage by yourself. I should have warned you about my tight schedule and I'm afraid you'll be alone most of the time. But don't worry, sweetheart, there's plenty you can do, there are museums, places to visit, lots of sightseeing, Stockholm is so near... Everybody speaks English here, and they're more than happy to use any chance they get to show it. You should try to get some rest. You must be tired after your flight.

Tonight, my daughter and I are going to make you a Swedish dinner and we'll catch up. It will be fun, I promise!"

She gave me a quick kiss on the cheek and rushed off in a hurry, without leaving me the chance of saying something in return. She sounded almost embarrassed and seemed a little eager to get out. Yet again, maybe it was only my imagination. I wondered how difficult it was in fact for her to adjust to my sudden presence here, disrupting her daily routine and bringing back memories from home. I suddenly felt selfish and guilty.

Angela yelled from the door that she'd left something for me to eat in the kitchen, and then I heard the front door closing. I had remained alone in her house. I paced the silent rooms and for a brief moment, I feared I might get anew that imprisonment sensation I'd had back at home; but all I was feeling was exhaustion and numbness.

I pulled out from my bag the books bought from Paris as gifts and left them on a table for the girls to find. I returned to my new Spartan bedroom, and without another thought, I lay down on the bed fully clothed and went fast asleep.

I didn't realize it was already the next morning until, barely awake, I bumped into Angela on my way to the bathroom.

"Good morning, sleepy-head! Come on, I've made coffee!" she said tenderly.

"What time is it?" I asked, confused.

"It's nine o'clock in the morning. You slept almost sixteen hours!" she clarified, smiling. I was surprised. I hadn't slept so much and so dreamlessly in quite some time.

"I'll be right with you. Just let me get rid of these clothes and take a shower."

We spend enjoyably the rest of the day: talking, preparing meals and taking a walk down memory lane. We discussed my family, her family, our mutual acquaintances and former colleagues. At some point, her daughter came from school, and to my astonishment, I was introduced to an almost teenage girl, who, after polite greetings, paid us unsurprisingly little attention and went to her room. Angela shrugged and smiled meaningfully. When the evening came, we even made fools of ourselves, trying to sing old Abba hits over a glass of red wine.

"So, are you ready to tell me why are you really here?" she cautiously asked while handing my refilled glass.

My heart stopped and for a second I hesitated, in search for suitable words.

"I think…I mean… Edward seems to be interested… in another woman…so...I kind of…fled..." With each word, my voice dropped until it remained just a feeble whisper.

"Oh, Bella… Are you sure?"

"I have strong reasons to believe that…"

"It's okay, dear, there's no need for you to tell me more. I didn't mean to be indiscreet."

"I want to tell you. I owe you that much. Besides, I haven't really spoken to anybody about this."

"If you don't count in my pitiable letter," I thought dryly.

"Have you talked to him, I mean… what did he say?" she asked, stretching to get a hold of my hand.

"We didn't exactly talk about it. We haven't seen much of each other lately. He's in Rio right now and I couldn't reach him… He has traveled extensively there in the last year."

For a minute, there was silence.

"So what do you intend to do?"

"Once a man starts lusting after 'fresher flesh', there's not much you can do. I'll acquiesce in whatever he wants, I guess…"

"You seemed to be so much in love with him. Aren't you going to defend your marriage?"

"I really don't know if I should, Angela…"

I rose to my feet and paced to the window.

"It was nice to think that he and I would be together forever...but forever is a long time, things happen, life is just one damn thing after another and no relationship comes with a lifetime guarantee... Maybe the weight of managing a life filled to the brim with obligations, plans, regrets and fears has taken its toll on him..." I inhaled deeply and added quietly: "It never made sense anyway...him to be mine, I mean…"

"That's a silly thing to say Bella, and you know it! You make it sound like he is a demigod or something…"

I turned my back on her and stared blankly outside, seeing only my own reflection in the dark window.

"You clearly haven't met Edward…" I chuckled tersely.

"I don't need to…I mean, look at you! You're an articulate, intelligent, good looking, considerate and highly educated woman…"

"No, I'm not!" I retorted almost shouting, my voice high-pitched and strained. "I'm... I'm timid and mediocre and irresolute…" I stopped abruptly, remembering we were not alone in the apartment and stared ashamed at the glass in my hand.

"You mustn't say that!" Angela admonished me, unimpressed by my childish burst.

"I'm sorry." I whispered. "In more ways than one…" I added in my mind.

"No, I mean it! Bella, you're almost thirty now, aren't you?" I nodded.

"Well, the general opinion is that this is the age when a woman grows confident in herself and by now she knows what she enjoys, what she dislikes, what she deserves… There's absolutely no reason for you to develop such a poor self-image and suffer from it. I'm not saying to blow your own trumpet, but you need to trust yourself and to be more selfish. You need to love yourself. I'm sure you already know all of this, but you shouldn't underestimate yourself, under any circumstances; and for no one!"

"Are you telling me I should take measures, I should act instead of hiding here and licking my wounds, aren't you? What am I to do, Angela? Track the other woman down and give her a good, hard, humiliating slap in public then grab Edward by his sleeve and drag him home kicking and screaming? Like that would truly prevent my marriage from falling apart…" I snorted sourly.

"Being confident is not about being dominant or aggressive or always getting what you want, Bella… It's about knowing who you are and not compromising on the important matters. Look, I understand your frustration and disappointment and pain and I'm not going to give you a lecture based on my personal experience. I know you need empathy right now rather than a solution…but you are resourceful and creative and surely you must know that the solution lies within yourself."

I skeptically shrugged and remained quiet. She was right. But so was I. My mind began a wandering of its own, analyzing the pros and cons of each case.

"…finish our glasses and go to bed?" Lost in thoughts, I only caught the ending of Angela's question.

"Yes. I cannot believe how late it is already… I think I should let you know something… I am known as having a restless and noisy sleep." I confessed uneasily.

"Come on, Bella! I'm sure I've seen worse. You wouldn't believe what an ex boyfriend of mine used to do in his sleep..."

We left the living room whispering and giggling like school girls. It had been a good day.

Our weekend together went by fast and soon I was, as I had been warned, mostly alone during the day. I watched Angela's daily struggle in awe. She ran back and forth in her old, battered red car, dividing herself between two jobs, psychology courses, her daughter's piano and ballet lessons, groceries shopping, cooking and cleaning, while her long, black-as-pitch hair in that ocean of blond heads made her look striking, exotic, almost alien-like. She ran all day long, from early morning until midnight, in some frantic race against the clock and maybe, just maybe, against her own fears.

Still, she found the time to take care of herself, to read, to talk to her friends, to handle the 'cattish affairs' as she liked to call the personal care routine. The fact that she was a kindergarten teacher for little Swedes, speaking their impossible language and in addition taught English as a second job also genuinely amazed me. She was a superwoman.

However, at night, she still had to face her big bed by herself. At least at the moment it was occupied by me. I wondered for a split second whose condition was more deplorable: hers or mine. Her loneliness or my misery.

I supposed it was a moot point.

Observing Angela kept me from sinking too deep in my own dangerous quicksand, in my treacherous wretchedness. I feared the nights, though. Lately I'd been spared from nightmares but I was afraid they might reappear, which wouldn't surprise me at all. I used to have this recurrent dream, in which I'd meet Edward in some dark, indistinct scenery, a shadowy street corner perhaps, the only clear detail being the medieval-looking, cobblestone road, glittering wet from the rain.

For a while, we would only look at one another in the twilight. In the early evening gloom he'd seem taller yet. Colder than he had ever been. Then he'd turn to leave, still and silent, his face hardened, leaving me unable to utter my despair; although I would try to outcry my grief, to retain him, to make him return, not a single sound would leave my lips. Even if I mouthed his name over and over until I could hear it thundering in my head, there would still be nothing but an odd, deafening silence.

As if sensing my muted screams, he would pause for a little while, half-turning to look at me. Then he'd be gone, his shape slowly fading in the deepening dusk, his strange, metallic footsteps echoing in the dark.

I woke up sobbing in a blend of fear and confusion, feeling Angela's comforting arms around me. She must have heard me from her daughter's bedroom, which they were currently sharing. Her soft, silky nightgown I felt against my cheek was all wet from my tears.

My pain, reborn and reinforced, hit me stronger than ever.

"I cannot evade him, Angela…" I cried. "He's inside me, running in my veins, blended in my blood, like an indelible imprint on my entire being… He owns me, he haunts me whenever he likes…"

"I know, Bella, I know…" She hugged me tighter and tried to soothe me with her words and touch. "Calm down now… It was only a dream. Everything is going to be okay. Time is a great healer, sweetheart. You'll see… The best is yet to come."

Thank you kindly for reading this ludicrous story.

An inspiring song: "Elle a fait un bebe toute seule" - Jean-Jacques Goldman