No matter how the doctors pleaded with him, he wouldn’t listen. Instead, he vanished into the mountains, where I had once spent five agonizing months.
As punishment, he went empty–handed. Back then, I’d had nothing. Now, neither did he.
Frederick retraced every step I had taken. Only then did he understand the depths of what I had endured.
He ate whatever he could find to keep himself alive.
One rainy day, the ground grew slick. He lost his footing and fell from a steep ledge, shattering his leg. He then dragged himself into a cave. There, he saw 30 tally marks carved into the stone.
I had made each one by hand, just to keep myself sane in that isolation. Every single mark was streaked with dried blood from my torn fingertips.
Frederick, disheveled, clung to the stone pillar and sobbed uncontrollably, “I’m sorry, Anastasia. I’m so sorry.”
He’d thought he had already atoned for everything. But right then, he realized he hadn’t even come close.
After I left my body, I lingered near Frederick as a spirit.
For months, I watched him drown in regret and listened to every apology he whispered. When death finally came for him, whatever feeling I still had for him vanished completely
Just as I was about to leave, I heard his voice behind me.
“Anastasia! Anastasia!” Frederick cried out. “Is that really you? Please, turn around. I miss you so much.”
Even then, I didn’t turn back or say a word. I simply moved forward, toward the new life waiting for me.
