I knew I'd spelt it wrong. Thanks Jing Mei person who commented. Okay one note. If there's talking going on around Luka, unless noted, their talking in Croatian. 

Luka felt the light wind blow through his hair, cool and salty, fresh from the sea. It tugged at the shirt he was wearing as he sat on sand, the sun starting to sink into the horizon, a pad of paper and a pen in his lap.

It was late May; three months after he'd left Chicago. The time had passed so quickly, he'd done so much, that he hadn't realised how much time had passed. He'd stayed with his parents for the first two weeks, then travelled around, seeing all his old friends, staying with Gordana and Stipe. It had been hard at first, visiting all the places he'd been with Danijela and his children, but it had gotten better. The worst part had been visiting their graves. The saddest of the memories had come flooding back. But he'd made it through. He'd sat there, telling them all about where he'd been, what he'd done, who he'd met.

Luka had then come back home, got a job in the local hospital, got an apartment, bought a car. He sighed as he stood up, brushing sand off his trousers and picking up his pen and paper. His shirt collar flapped in the wind, open to his breastbone, the cool air brushing his tanned skin. Out on the coast, it got as warm and sunny as anywhere in Greece come summer, and Luka was enjoying it as much as he could. He'd never had a proper holiday in America, and now he was catching up.

He made his way back to his car, parked on the roadside, and brushed down his clothes again before climbing into the drivers seat. It was about five minutes drive back to town, and he wound down windows to let in as much air as possible; the car had been in the sun all day.

There were crickets chirruping in the trees and bushes all the way down the road as he headed for the lights of the town. He lived on the outskirts in a two-bedroom house, set back from the road. It was a complete contrast to his home in America; full of old furniture, light and airy. His apartment in Chicago looked gloomy and depressing in contrast.

Luka, his brother Dmitri and his family went to Luka's parents every Sunday for lunch, and he was Dmitri and Emma his wife's, chief baby sitter. Dmitri's wife was English, but she had moved to Croatia in nineteen ninety-nine with her husband and daughter. Before then, they had lived in England, with their eldest daughter Ana. After they'd moved to Croatia, they'd had their second daughter Tatjana and then their son Josif. Ana was eight, Tatjana five and Josif was just two, a few months older than Marko had been when he'd died. Luka loved being around his family again, especially with the children.

His house came looming into view, and he turned the wheel, heading up the drive. It was a typical Mediterranean style house, with white walls and a terracotta-tiled roof. He parked his car under the wooden lean-to jutting out from the side of the house and walked in through the side door, straight into the kitchen.

Luka opened the fridge and pulled out a bottle of water. He headed on into the living room, switching on the lights as went, the pad of paper and pen still in his hand. He flopped onto his sofa, kicking his shoes off and putting his feet on the table. Luka looked at the pad he'd had at the beach, and saw the few words he'd written over an hour ago.

Dear Abby,

He sighed and picked up the pen, biting off the lid and holding it in his teeth. He moved it onto the page, hovering just above the paper, reading to write. To write what? Dear Abby, it's good to be home again with a new life away from the woman I loveIt wasn't that he regretted leaving, he loved being home again, and if he had a choice, he doubted he would go back to Chicago. But did miss his friends, especially Abby. He'd noticed Emma subtle attempts in trying to hook him up with some of her single friends, but he had politely declined going to dinner or for a drink with them, even with Dmitri and Emma there as well. It wasn't that he didn't want like any of the women, but †he guessed he still had very strong feelings for Abby. But he knew in time they'd fade. That's what he needed, time.

Luka looked back at the paper, and after a moment starting writing.