The sea was grey and furious through the windows. From up there, he could see the hill trail leading to the waves. He wished he had the time to go down the track one last time. To take a walk on their secluded beach. One last bathe in the cove only seagulls and turtles knew of. But he couldn’t.

  He had dared to take one look at her grave, but he didn’t linger. He wasn’t able to give her a proper goodbye as he felt observed by her, like she was angry and disappointed in him: the man she loved and trusted who didn’t hesitate much before shooting her down. The man who didn’t even give her the benefit of the doubt.

  But he had done everything to protect both of them. Even her. What hurt him the most was not just the fact that he was forced to leave her, it was also the fact that she probably didn’t understand the reason behind his actions. Did she see him as a heartless monster? Was that the last thing she saw before she died? Could she not see the love behind it all?

  He parted from their house. He parted from the roaring waves and the rough sea. He parted from her.

  He hated driving. Anyone who met him always found that rather odd. From outside, he looked like the kind of guy who would drive for hours out of amusement. The kind of guy who would find excuses just to get on the road. But he hated it. And hated even more if he had to drive alone with only his thoughts to keep him company.

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  She used to be the one driving. Her steering was smooth and steady. She would drive and he would pick the music. He would enthusiastically point out every ordinary and exotic animal he would catch a glimpse of, out of the window. And each trip was never boring. Sure, there were quarrels from time to time, but they were mostly due to fatigue and drowsiness. It would have been a blessing in that moment to be arguing with her instead of driving alone.

  God, that trip was torturing him. The landscape was getting repetitive. He had crossed dozens of small villages. Those terrible places where privacy didn’t exist and everyone knew everything about you. Where people would come either to congratulate you or to offer their condolences. Communities. He used to live in a place like that when he was a kid. Everyone seemed so pleasant and kind when they were talking to you, but as soon as you turned the corner they were insulting you behind your back. He preferred much more to be lost in a big city where everyone was too busy to mind someone else’s business. Either that or to live in a remote place by himself. In both cases, nobody knew your name and no one could bother you.

  Although those places creeped him out, he knew that villages were one of the safest places out there. And he knew that sooner or later, it would have been wise to pick one and to stop by it, to stock up and to fill the tank.

  The road was long and full of perils.