Chapter 1: Hand in Hand
The sun kisses my face with warm tenderness, its rays filtering gently through the leaves above.
Light dances across my skin like a silent promise. There's a rare peace in the air, the kind that feels like it belongs only to the pages of a dream.
We walk slowly along a forest path, hand in hand. Our fingers are entwined, his palm large and strong, completely enveloping mine.
My hand feels small, safe. Like I could disappear into him and be held forever.
Ahead of us, our son is laughing, pure and bright. He's six —filled with boundless energy and wonder. He throws a stick, laughing again as our dogs race after it.
One is our black standard poodle, elegant and expressive, with curls like storm clouds and the heart of a clown.
The other, a regal cream-colored Great Dane, graceful and calm, follows loyally behind.
They make the oddest pair, but somehow, it fits. Like us.
"Mom, look! A deer!" our son yells, eyes wide.
There, at the edge of the clearing, stands a deer.
Still. Watching.
Her eyes are wide and curious, reflecting a strange kind of knowing.
The dogs pause.
I whisper a quiet "Stay," and they listen.
The deer doesn't run.
She looks at us—for a heartbeat too long—and then turns slowly, vanishing back into the trees.
And with her, something inside me begins to unravel.
A memory.
One I thought I buried. One that should have stayed buried.
It was years ago. I was still with my ex-husband—Klemen.
We'd gone to his brother's birthday party.
It was meant to be simple. Normal. Family.
I wore heels and a soft blue dress. My hair was pinned up.
I felt beautiful.
For once, maybe even free.
A family friend asked me to dance. He was kind. Old-fashioned.
We danced. I laughed. It meant nothing.
But Klemen was already drinking.
And drinking.
He danced with every woman in the room—except me.
He poured drinks like he was the king of the party, loud and boastful. He didn't even look at me.
The drive home was silent.
Tense.
His hands gripped the wheel like it had done something wrong.
His jaw clenched, and his eyes… cold.
When we got home, he slammed his door.
Marched around. Ripped mine open.
"Let's go," he barked.
I stepped out, confused, heart pounding.
He pushed me against the wall, kissing me hard.
His breath reeked of alcohol. I pulled away, gently.
"Not like this," I whispered.
His eyes turned black. Teeth clenched. "Who were you with tonight?" he growled. "You dance with him, and now you don't want me?"
He pulled my hair. Dragged me. I fell to the ground.
Pain burst through my body. In my stomach. My legs. My heart.
I begged him to stop.
But his eyes were wild, like something had taken over.
He shouted.
Accused me.
Threw me toward the door.
Slapped me.
I ran—upstairs, terrified.
He followed.
I fell.
The pain in my belly sharpened.
I cried.
I curled into myself.
I wanted to vanish.
He stood over me. Breathing like a beast.
Then he left me there.
I ran. Out the door. Into the forest. Into the dark.
And there, in the clearing, was a deer.
Still.
Watching.
Was I prey too?
She turned and disappeared.
I couldn't go home. But I had nowhere else to go.
When I returned, Klemen was asleep. Drunk. I grabbed my wallet and keys and left.
The next day, I went to the hospital. I was bleeding.
Badly.
"You had a miscarriage," they told me.
I didn't even know I was pregnant.
And now I walk this path again.
But with a different man.
A man who touches me with tenderness.
A man who never yells, never drinks himself into violence.
He's tall—198 cm—and the kind of man who turns heads without even trying.
His hair is thick and golden, his smile soft. And those eyes… kind. Safe.
He holds my hand like I'm made of something precious.
He holds me like art.
And still… a part of me trembles.
Because every time I see a deer…
I remember.