Without a word E-Book

Elias J. Connor

• Herausgeber: FINN Books Edition FireFly
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Beschreibung

The unsuccessful writer Easton Williams lives a secluded life with his daughter in a remote mansion in Worthing in southern England, which he inherited years ago from his great-uncle. When the new servant Stephanie starts her job one day and moves into the house with her adult daughter Jana, Easton's writing block seems to come to an end. Jana inspires him and he becomes more and more friends with her. Easton and Jana begin a secret relationship against all the rules. But when the relationship between the two is finally discovered, strange things suddenly start happening in the village and Easton can soon no longer distinguish between reality and the stories he writes... A dramatic family saga about an author who stirs up an entire village with his stories. Authentic, exciting, loving.

Leseprobe

Elias J. Connor

Without a word

Inhaltsverzeichnis

Dedication

Chapter 1 - The scribe

Chapter 2 - Willow family

Chapter 3 - Faith and Gil

Chapter 4 - The entry

Chapter 5 - Kitty and Jojo

Chapter 6 - The first encounter

Chapter 7 - The garden house

Chapter 8 - Resistance of the youth

Chapter 9 - I'm coming home

Chapter 10 - Sedna's cry for help

Chapter 11 - The rivals

Chapter 12 - When secrets come to light

Chapter 13 - Underground

Chapter 14 - New life in seconds

Chapter 15 - Welcome to the world, Leonie

Chapter 16 - At the Douchantes

Chapter 17 - Evil witch or good witch

Chapter 18 - Wedding at Riley's house

Chapter 19 - Hexaby

Chapter 20 - Longing

Chapter 21 - Synthori

Chapter 22 - Abandoned

Chapter 23 - Dark times

Chapter 24 - The great fall

Chapter 25 - The wedding of Easton and Jana

About the author Elias J. Connor

Impressum

Dedication

For Jana.

My friend and companion.

Thank you for being there.

Thank you for bringing the light into my life.

Chapter 1 - The scribe

The morning hours move lazily across the high ceiling of my study, a room full of shadows that gather on the walls as if they have made themselves comfortable here. I sit at the old desk of my great uncle, who left me the house, as if he were in a silent competition with me, trying to encourage me to create what I cannot. The desk itself is a massive block of dark oak, scarred by time and many unfinished stories. The wooden surface is so smooth it is almost uncanny, and I know every kink and nick in this old piece of furniture as if it were a familiar friend.

In front of me lies an empty notebook, the pages challenging and unsettling at the same time. The pen in my hand feels heavy, as if it were weighed down by an invisible burden that reflects my own thoughts. The words I want to write are like ghosts that have slipped from my mind, and I cannot grasp them no matter how hard I try. The pale light streaming through the tall windows bathes the room in a soft, melancholy light that falls over my thoughts like an oppressive blanket.

Outside, the birds play an invisible melody caught in the branches of the ancient oaks and chestnuts that surround the property. The trees seem to whisper stories that I cannot hear. Perhaps it is the sound of times gone by that is embedded in this house, or simply the memory of my wife that permeates every corner of these ancient walls. When I look through the window, I am reminded of her - of her gentle eyes and her smile that brought light even in the darkest moments. It is as if she is still here, in the shadows that cover the land and in the silence that is sometimes so loud it almost drives me crazy.

I turn the pen in my hand and try to concentrate, but my thoughts keep drifting back to her. Her voice, the way she laughed and told me stories - everything seems so far away, like a dream that I can't hold on to. She is no longer here, and I am left alone with the burden of her absence and the legacy that hangs around my legs like a heavy chain.

The constant reminders of her have prevented me not only from writing my novel, but also from finding any sense of meaning in this new life I've led since her death. The villa I inherited was supposed to be my refuge and source of inspiration. Instead, it often feels like it's crushing me, like it's just another symbol of my failure to break free from my past.

I get up and walk to the window to get a better look at the garden. The large garden is a testament to years gone by, with its overgrown flowerbeds and overhanging branches that wrap around the property like old friends. In the distance I see the old gazebo, which has hardly been used in recent years. It was a place my wife and I often visited when we wanted time for ourselves. Today it seems like a ruin that has stood the test of time, a silent guardian of the past that keeps nothing but memories. For a moment it feels like it did back then. Back when she was still there.

"Easton?"

My daughter Sedna's voice echoes through the hallway, making me jump. She's not back from school yet, but sometimes it seems like she's here, like she hears my name in the walls of the house. I go to the door and open it, but the hallway is empty.

I walk back to the desk and try to focus on the blank sheet of paper in front of me. But the room suddenly feels oppressive and I start to doubt. What if I'm never able to write another novel? What if this place that once seemed like a source of inspiration now feels like a cage?

The silence is only broken by the occasional rustling of leaves in the wind. In my head, thoughts are like stormy waves crashing on the cliffs. I remember my wife's words when she advised me to keep going, no matter how difficult it may get. She said that the real struggle is not finding the words, but believing in them.

I close my eyes and try to reproduce her voice in my head. "Believe in yourself," she had said. "The words will come when you least expect them." But how much longer must I wait? How many blank pages must I turn before I finally find the flow of inspiration that will make me a real writer again?

Suddenly I hear the sound of footsteps on the stairs and I know that Sedna will be there soon. Her return brings a certain unease to my thoughts, but also a feeling of relief. Perhaps her presence will help me to get out of this emotional quagmire that I so often find myself in.

"Papa?"

Sedna stands in the doorway, her school uniform still neat, her dark hair tied back in a ponytail. Her eyes are still filled with the innocence and curiosity of a teenager, although at times she shows a concern that I find hard to understand.

"Hello, Sedna," I say, trying to put on a smile that doesn't seem entirely authentic. "How was school?"

"It's okay," she replies and enters. "Have you written anything yet?"

I shake my head and avoid her gaze.

"Not really. It's a tough fight. But it will be okay."

Sedna nods as if she understands, but I can see in her eyes the question she dares not voice. She's probably wondering why I don't just stop and do something else, why I'm tormenting myself so much when I haven't achieved anything for so long. Maybe she's also wondering if things will ever get better, or if we'll always be lost in this labyrinth of memory and doubt.

"I brought you a little something," she finally says, holding out a small package to me. "It's something I made at school."

I take the package and open it carefully. Inside is a handmade bookmark that she made in art class. It is lovingly decorated with bright colors and small drawings. In the middle, in irregular writing, it says: "For Dad - so that you never lose courage."

A smile spreads across my face, and for a moment I feel like the father I want to be - strong, supportive, and full of hope. Maybe it's the memory of my wife that keeps holding me back, or the doubts that plague me, but in that moment I just feel touched by the love of my daughter.

"Thank you, Sedna," I say and hug her tightly. "That's really nice."

"I thought it might help you," she says, smiling sheepishly. "Maybe it'll add a little color to the blank pages."

"It certainly does," I reply. "Maybe it's exactly what I needed."

We spend the afternoon together and I feel the warmth of her presence slowly dispel the coldness of the room. We talk about her school days, her friends and the little adventures she has had. Her enthusiasm and ease are contagious and I find myself forgetting my worries for a moment.

When she finally disappears into her room, I go back to my desk. The bookmark is in front of me and reminds me of the simple truth: sometimes it is the faith of others that helps us not to lose our own faith. I pick up the pen and start writing, the words come slowly, but they come. Step by step, page by page. And when I have written enough, I will be able to transfer it to the PC to start the novel properly.

Maybe the writer's block won't go away immediately, but I know now that I'm not alone. The memory of my wife, the love of my daughter, and the quiet strength of this old house are all pieces of a puzzle waiting to be put together. And maybe that's the first step on the road to becoming a real writer again.

It is already late and darkness has fallen like a thick black curtain over the large house in Worthing. I am sitting at my desk, surrounded by a chaos of notebooks, crumpled papers, the PC and empty cups. The only light comes from the desk lamp, which casts a yellow stain on the tabletop. The cold of the floor-to-ceiling window, which I leave open to get some fresh air, mixes with the warmth of the countless thoughts racing through my head.

I've been scribbling in my notebook for hours, trying to organize my thoughts and piece together the fragments of my new story into a coherent whole. Every sentence I write seems to discourage me more than inspire me. I get lost in the details that don't help me. The characters seem rigid and lifeless, the dialogues lag behind as if they were speaking through a veil of inertia. The initial euphoria has long since evaporated and reality has caught up with me with its merciless shackles.

It is now well past midnight and my computer screen is a dull white glow. The cursor blinks impatiently, as if mocking my indecision. I stare at the empty lines, trying desperately to focus my thoughts, but the words don't come. The empty lines remain empty, and the thought that I am incapable of creating anything worthwhile consumes me.

"Nothing will ever come of it," I murmur, my voice rough and thin, an echo in the silence of the house. I close the PC resignedly and sink back into the chair, which has now adapted its shape to the contours of my body. A quick glance at the notebook shows me the sketchy notes that are not getting me anywhere. Maybe I should have given up a long time ago. Maybe it would be better if I just drew a line under it and put the story on ice.

My thoughts return to Sedna once again. I remember her words a few weeks ago, when she said in her usual blunt tone, "The house is far too big and far too empty with just the two of us." She even suggested subletting a room or two, but I vehemently rejected the idea. The thought of letting strangers into our home feels like giving up a part of myself. We've been alone here for so long, since Emily died - since we retreated into this big, empty shell as if we needed it as protection from the world.

In my mind I walk through the rooms of the house. The living room is large and sparse, the furniture is old and worn, and the large fireplace in the corner seems like a relic of times gone by. The dining room is only slightly better - a large table where we rarely spend time. The kitchen, which I often neglect, is a room that only comes alive when Sedna is cooking in it. Most days I spend on ready meals or quick sandwiches that I make in the evening.

I stand up and echo my footsteps down the hall, walk to the stairs and climb the steps. Upstairs are the bedrooms and some unused rooms that we have never entered in the last few years. The thought of these empty rooms is somehow painful - it is as if they keep reminding us of the absence of life and laughter. My hand brushes over the door of one of the guest rooms, which has only a bed and a few boxes of old memories. It is dark in there, and has been that way for a long time.

I slip through the door of my study, which feels like a personal sanctuary. Here are my bookshelves, crammed with stories and memories. The large desk faces the window that offers a sweeping view of the garden and the dark street outside. The landscape is only dimly lit by the pale street lamps that illuminate the edge of the village.

I look out the window at Worthing, the small village in southern England. The landscape is quiet and almost ghostly at this hour. The houses are often small and modest, with flowering gardens now hidden in the darkness. The streets are empty, and only the occasional creak of an old wooden fence breaks the silence. The people here are friendly, but their lives seem as quiet as the village itself at this late hour.

The houses near the market square are pretty and traditional, with their slate roofs and charming half-timbered facades. There are a few old pubs and cafes that buzz with life during the day, but now they are empty and deserted. The soft lights of the lanterns cast long shadows on the cobblestones, and I imagine the wind blowing through the empty streets as if searching for something it cannot find.

With a sigh, I sink into the armchair and look at the silence of the night that seems to be crushing me. Thoughts of Sedna and the unused rooms come back to me. Her words echo in my head and I wonder if she was right. Renting out a few rooms could not only revitalize the house, but perhaps bring me new inspiration as well.

The thought is tempting, but also frightening. What if the new residents don't fit in? What if they not only fill the space, but also disturb the peace that I value? Maybe it's just an escape from the responsibility, from the dissatisfaction that I feel in my work.

With one last look at the village outside and the darkness that envelops it, I get up and decide to go to bed. Thoughts are still swirling around in my head, but I'm too tired to pursue them any further. Early morning will soon break, and I'll see how I start the day with new ideas and maybe a little more courage.

However, I cannot sleep immediately. As I lie in the darkness, I try to organize my thoughts, but the silence and emptiness of the house around me are almost overwhelming. Maybe it is time to change something, maybe it is time to face my fears and take new paths.

Fatigue finally overcomes me and I close my eyes, hoping that the coming days will bring me the clarity I so desperately need.

Chapter 2 - Willow family

Stephanie Willow sits at her desk, her hands shaking slightly as she stares at her boss's door. The clock on the wall ticks relentlessly. Every second feels like an eternity as she waits for the inevitable. She knows that the conversation that is about to take place cannot end well. For weeks she has been putting off the constant arguments with her boss, Mr. Bergmann, who is becoming increasingly impatient. But today there is no escape.

The door opens with a slight creak and Mr. Bergmann enters. He is a tall man, his face is hard and his eyes sparkle coldly behind the narrow lenses of his glasses. Stephanie involuntarily ducks her head as he sits down at the desk opposite her.

"Mrs. Willow," he begins in a voice that betrays no emotion, "I think you know why we are here."

Stephanie nods silently. There is a lump in her throat that she cannot swallow. Everything in her is reluctant to have this conversation, but she has to have it, has to face this situation.

"You have been absent too often in the last few weeks," Mr. Bergmann continues. "That may be understandable from your point of view, but from a business perspective it is not acceptable. Your work is left undone, deadlines are not met. There are colleagues who complain about the extra work."

"I'm sorry," Stephanie begins, her voice shaking slightly. "My daughter... she's having trouble finding a suitable place to study. She needs my support, Mr. Bergmann. Jana is autistic, and that makes it particularly difficult for her. I didn't want to put you in a difficult situation, but I had to help her."

Mr. Bergmann folds his arms in front of his chest and leans back.

"I understand that your daughter is your priority, Mrs. Willow. But you must also understand that the company must function. We cannot bear the burden of your absence forever."

Stephanie feels the tears welling up inside her, but she fights against them. She can't break down now. She has to stay strong and find a solution.

"Please, Mr. Bergmann," she says with a pleading tone. "Give me another chance. I'll try to minimize my absences, maybe I can do some tasks from home. I need this job."

Mr. Bergmann shakes his head.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Willow, but this cannot continue. We have already found a replacement for your position. You must pack your things and leave the office by the end of the day."

Stephanie feels the world falling apart around her. Her boss's words echo in her head as if someone was giving her a heavy punch in the stomach. She's been fired. Her job is gone. How is she supposed to explain this to Jana? Jana, who depends so much on her support, who can only rely on her mother in this world that is often so incomprehensible and overwhelming for her?

"I understand," Stephanie whispers, unable to look at him. Her hands shake as she begins packing her few personal items into a small box. It feels like a nightmare she can't wake up from.

How is she supposed to pay the bills now? The rent? Jana's studies?

Mr. Bergmann stands up, his posture still stiff and unyielding.

"I'm sorry it had to end this way, Mrs. Willow. I wish you and your daughter all the best."

Stephanie nods silently as the boss leaves the room. The door closes behind him and she is alone. Alone with her thoughts, her fears, her doubts. She sits motionless for a moment, trying to hold back the tears that are now rising inexorably in her eyes. But she doesn't succeed.

She leaves the office as if in a trance, every movement feels mechanical, as if her body doesn't really belong to her. Her colleagues give her pitying looks, but no one says a word. No one knows what she's going through, no one understands the burden that lies on her shoulders.

When she finally stands outside, in the fresh air, the world seems to stand still for a moment. The sounds of the city, the people rushing past her, all of that fades into a whirlwind of fear and despair. How will she ever tell Jana the truth?

Stephanie walks slowly home, each step harder than the last. Her heart beats wildly in her chest as she thinks about how she should approach her daughter. Jana is surely already waiting for her, perhaps she is sitting at her laptop again, researching universities that might be suitable for her.

When she gets home, Stephanie quietly opens the door, trying to keep her composure. Jana is sitting, as she suspected, at the kitchen table, surrounded by books and brochures from various universities.

Her face is concentrated, her brow slightly furrowed as she delves into the depths of the Internet.

“Hello, Mom,” says Jana, without looking up from her screen. Her voice sounds calm, almost monotonous, as it always does when she is engrossed in her research.

Stephanie forces a smile onto her face.

"Hello, my love," she replies, trying to hide the worry in her voice. "How are things going?"

"It's difficult," Jana replies matter-of-factly. "Most of the courses I'm interested in require classroom teaching, which is a big challenge for me. But I've found a few alternatives that we could look at."

Stephanie sits down next to her daughter and looks at the notes Jana has made. Every line reflects the effort Jana has made to find a place that meets her needs. Stephanie feels her heart sinking. How should she explain to her daughter that she can no longer help her? That she no longer has a job and doesn't know how they will finance the costs of studying?

"That sounds good," she finally says, trying to sound optimistic. "We will certainly find a solution."

Jana nods, satisfied with the answer, and turns back to her laptop. For her, the world is fine as long as her mother is by her side. Stephanie knows that she has to stay strong so as not to disappoint Jana, but the fear that is spreading inside her cannot simply be ignored.

The next few days pass in a kind of fog. Stephanie is desperately looking for a new job, but there are no quick solutions. The bills are piling up and her bank account is shrinking at an alarming rate. She feels like she is in a whirlpool that is pulling her deeper and deeper down. Every night she lies awake wondering how she is going to get out of this situation, but there are no answers.

Jana notices the changes in her mother, but she can't really interpret them. Things that are obvious to other people are often a mystery to her. She senses the tension in the air, but she doesn't know how to deal with it.

"Mom, are you okay?" she asks one evening as she watches her mother washing dishes in the kitchen. Stephanie pauses for a moment before answering.

"Yes, everything's fine, darling," she says, without looking at Jana. The lie burns in her mouth, but she can't say the truth. Not now, not like this.

"You look tired," Jana remarks, her voice neutral but her gaze piercing. "Are you having problems at work?"

Stephanie feels her throat tighten. She knows she can't hide the truth any longer, but the words won't come out of her mouth. She wants to protect her daughter, not burden her with the burden she carries herself.

"It's just a bit stressful at the moment," she finally answers evasively. "But don't worry, I'll manage."

Jana looks at her for a long time before nodding.

“If you need help, Mom, tell me.”

Stephanie forces herself to smile.

"I will, darling. But now you should concentrate on your studies. That's the most important thing."

Jana nods again and returns to her room, but Stephanie remains standing in the kitchen, staring into space while tears flow uncontrollably down her cheeks. She knows that she can no longer hide the truth, but the fear of disappointing Jana paralyzes her. She feels trapped in a web of lies and neglect from which she can find no way out.

The days pass and Stephanie finds it increasingly difficult to hide her despair. The facade she is trying so hard to maintain begins to crumble. Jana notices the changes more and more clearly, but she says nothing, hoping that things will sort themselves out.

One evening, however, as they sit together at the kitchen table and eat dinner in silence, Stephanie can't stand it anymore. She puts the cutlery aside and looks at Jana, her eyes full of unspoken pain.

"Jana, I have to tell you something," she begins quietly, her voice almost breaking under the weight of the words she is about to say. "I... I lost my job."

Jana looks at her, her facial expression remains unchanged, but Stephanie knows that her daughter is trying to process the meaning of what she has heard.

“Since when?” Jana asks after a short pause.

"For two weeks," Stephanie admits, feeling guilty with every word. "I didn't want to tell you because I thought I could quickly find something new. But it's harder than I thought."

Jana nods slowly, but her eyes reflect confusion and uncertainty.

“Then how are we going to pay the bills? And my studies?”

Jana's gaze is blank. You can see the disappointment in her eyes, even though she doesn't want to show it.

Stephanie fights back tears.

"I don't know," she whispers. "But I promise you that I will do everything I can to find a solution."

There is silence between them for a moment, then Jana suddenly stands up and goes into her room without another word. Stephanie is left alone, her hands shaking as she stares at the untouched food. She has failed, in every way. Her daughter depends on her, and she has let her down.

But the next morning, Stephanie finds a note on the kitchen table. Jana's handwriting is neat and tidy, as always, but the content hits her deep in the heart.

“Mom, we can do this together. You always helped me, now I’ll help you.”

Stephanie feels the tears coming again, but this time they are not tears of despair. In the midst of all her worries and fears, she realizes that she is not alone. Jana, her beloved daughter, has given her more courage in this one sentence than she could have ever imagined.

Maybe the road ahead of them isn't easy, maybe it will get even more difficult, but they are together. And that gives Stephanie the strength to keep fighting, for herself and for Jana. Because no matter how dark the night is, the morning will always come. And with it the hope that there is a way out, a new beginning that they can achieve together.

Jana sits at her desk in her small, spartanly furnished room. The laptop in front of her glows dimly in the approaching dusk, the white light of the screen bathes her face in an unnatural glow. Her finger scrolls tirelessly through the list of job advertisements, which seem endless and monotonous. Most of the offers are ridiculously poorly paid, others require qualifications that her mother Stephanie does not have. Jana sighs, her shoulders sink a little.

Her mother has been without a job for weeks. Since then, things have become increasingly difficult. Stephanie is 45 years old, no longer the youngest, and in a city like this, where competition for jobs is merciless, it seems almost impossible to find something suitable. But Jana is not giving up. She knows that she has to find a solution. Not for herself, but for her mother, who has become increasingly quiet and withdrawn in recent months.

"There has to be something," Jana murmurs, rubbing her eyes, which are burning from the effort of searching for so long. She mechanically clicks on the next page of the job board, the endless list flickers before her eyes. The first entries on the page are the same as before: office work, sales assistants, cleaning jobs - nothing she hasn't seen before. She is about to give up when a small, inconspicuous advert at the bottom of the page catches her attention.

"Housekeeper, preferably with entourage, wanted for a large villa. Above average salary, room and board included. Please contact Easton Williams at the address below."

Jana's heart skips a beat, then speeds up as she reads the lines again. Housekeeper. Her mother always said that she wouldn't mind working in a household as long as the conditions were right. And this seems more than just OK. "Above-average wages, room and board included" - that sounds almost too good to be true. She hesitates for a moment, wondering whether she should even show it to her mother, but what does she have to lose?

The address is also there, in a part of town that Jana only knows by hearsay. A wealthy area, where the streets are wide and the houses are surrounded by high fences.

She slowly leans back, lets her hands fall into her lap and stares at the screen. A villa, she thinks. What if it really is a good offer? On the other hand, what if it is a trap? In times like these, you never know what is behind an ad like that. But the idea that her mother will find a job that might even offer more than she ever had doesn't leave Jana alone.

In the evening, as she prepares dinner, Jana is still brooding over the advert. Her mother is sitting at the kitchen table, leafing through the mail, which, as usual, contains nothing but bills and junk mail. Her face has become thinner in the last few months, her cheeks have sunken slightly, and the dark circles under her eyes reveal her sleepless nights.

Jana clears her throat as she places the steaming dish on the table.

“Mom, I saw something today. A job advertisement.”

Stephanie looks up, her eyes tired but alert.

"Oh yeah? What kind of place?"

Jana sits down next to her, her hands starting to nervously tug at the edge of the napkin.

"A housekeeper is wanted. It sounds pretty good, actually. Above-average salary, room and board included."

Stephanie puts the mail aside and folds her hands on the table in front of her.

"Where, then?"

"In a villa in the west of the city," Jana explains carefully. She doesn't want to scare her mother, but she knows it's important to be honest. "It says to contact a certain Easton Williams."

Stephanie frowns, leans back slightly and thinks for a moment.

"That sounds unusual. But also interesting. Do you really think that could be something for me?"

Jana nods, perhaps a little too eagerly.

"Why not? You're organized, you have experience dealing with people, and I know you could do it. And if it really pays as well as they say, then it could get us out of this mess."

Stephanie shakes her head slightly, a tired smile playing around her lips.

"Oh, Jana. It's not that easy. The job of a housekeeper is demanding and I'm not sure if I'm cut out for it. But it's nice of you to believe in it."

"I don't just believe it, Mom. I know it," Jana replies firmly. "You've worked hard all these years and always taken care of me. Now it's time for you to get something that gives you something back. We could at least ask around, what do you think?"

Stephanie looks at her daughter for a long time, her thoughts spinning. She can see the worry in Jana's eyes, but also the hope behind these words. She knows that Jana is right. They don't have many options. And even if the idea of working in a stranger's household makes her hesitate, she has nothing to lose.

"Maybe you're right," Stephanie finally says, sighing quietly. "I'll think about it. Maybe we should really inquire. But promise me we'll be careful, OK? I don't want us to end up disappointed."

Jana smiles with relief and takes her mother’s hand.

"Of course. We'll tackle this together, okay?"

Stephanie squeezes her daughter’s hand and nods.

"Okay. I'll call there tomorrow. Let's see what awaits us."

The next morning, the air is fresh and clear as Jana heads to college. Her thoughts are constantly circling around the conversation from the night before, and she can hardly wait to get home to hear what her mother has to say about the phone call. The hours creep by, and Jana has to force herself to concentrate on the lessons. But thoughts of the mysterious job offer won't leave her alone.

When she finally opens the front door, she hears her mother talking on the phone in the living room. Jana's heart rate increases and she can hardly suppress her curiosity. She puts down her bag and sneaks quietly towards the living room to eavesdrop on the conversation.

"Yes, I understand... Yes, that sounds really interesting... Of course, I would like to come and have a look... No, that would be no problem. Thank you for the information, Mr. Williams. I look forward to meeting you. Goodbye."

Stephanie puts down the phone and looks lost in thought for a moment before she notices Jana standing in the doorway.

“Well? How did it go?” Jana asks immediately, without hiding her curiosity.

Stephanie smiles slightly.

“It seems like it’s actually serious,” she says.

“Really?” Jana asks happily.

"Mr. Williams invited me to come over tomorrow afternoon to view the villa and discuss the details. He sounded very nice on the phone."

"This is great!" Jana steps closer, her eyes shining with excitement. "This could really be the start of something good, Mom. I have a good feeling about this."

"Yes, maybe you're right," Stephanie replies thoughtfully. "But I'll wait and see what I find out tomorrow. Everything is still very uncertain and I don't want to jump to conclusions."

The next day, Stephanie gets up early. She puts on her best pantsuit, carefully combs her hair and applies subtle make-up. Jana watches her with a proud smile before she sets off for school herself.

“Good luck, Mom. I’ll keep my fingers crossed for you,” she calls to her mother before closing the door behind her.

Stephanie takes a deep breath before leaving the house. The address that Mr. Williams gave her leads her to a neighborhood that she only knows vaguely from old times. The streets get wider and the houses bigger the closer she gets to her destination. Finally, she stops in front of a wrought iron gate that leads to an impressive villa. The building is a picture of elegance and prosperity, surrounded by well-kept gardens that stretch far into the distance.

"So this is the house," Stephanie murmurs, approaching a little hesitantly. She presses the bell and waits until the gate opens silently. A little uncertainly, she walks up the long path to the front door and finally stops in front of the massive, dark-painted door. Her hand, ready to knock, trembles slightly.

As soon as she knocked, I opened the door. I, a middle-aged man, saw this almost desperate woman in front of me, who I felt sorry for from the very first second - without knowing why.

"Mrs. Willow? I'm Easton Williams. Nice to have you here," I greet the strange lady.

Stephanie smiles and shakes my hand.

“Mr. Williams, it’s nice to meet you.”

"Please come in," I say, stepping aside to let her in. Stephanie enters and looks around. The inside of the house is probably just as impressive to her as the outside. High ceilings, ornate decorations and stylish furnishings leave no doubt that this is a house of importance.

I lead her into a spacious living room, lit by large windows. I offer her a seat on one of the comfortable leather sofas and sit opposite her.

“I assume you have questions about the position,” I begin.

"Yes, I did," Stephanie replies, trying to hide her nervousness. "The ad was quite vague and I would like to know more about the tasks and conditions."

"Of course," I nod and lean back slightly. "First of all, it is a full-time position. The tasks include the usual household management: cleaning, laundry, shopping and occasional cooking. We attach great importance to discretion and reliability, as the house is often visited by guests."

"That all sounds very doable," Stephanie remarks, feeling a little more relaxed. "And what do you mean by 'with an entourage'?"

I smile.

"This means that we don't mind if you want to live here with another person. We have enough space and I think it could be a good way to combine family and work. I want you to feel comfortable here."

Stephanie is surprised. She had not expected this generosity.

"That's really very generous of you. My daughter Jana is 19 and we currently live together. I would like to know if she would be welcome too."

"Of course," I reply. "Your daughter is very welcome. I think it could be a good opportunity for both of you to build a new base."

Stephanie feels the tension easing within her. The conditions are more than good and I seem to be really serious about giving her and Jana a chance.

"I'm impressed, Mr. Williams. It all sounds very promising."

"I'm glad to hear that," I say, standing up. "Would you like to see the rest of the house? I'm sure you'll like it."

Stephanie nods and follows me. As we wander through the rooms, she feels more and more certain that this is an opportunity she shouldn't miss. The villa is impressive, yes, but what really wins her over is the way I speak to her - respectfully and with a sincerity she probably hasn't experienced in a long time.

When we finally stand in front of the front door again, I hold out my hand to her.

"I hope to see you again soon, Mrs. Willow. Please think about it, and if you decide to accept the position, I am always at your disposal."

Stephanie shakes my hand and smiles. "I will definitely consider it. Thank you for the opportunity."

On the way home, Stephanie feels a sense of relief and departure. Perhaps this is the turning point they so desperately need. Jana will be happy, she thinks as she walks through the familiar streets of her neighborhood. And for a moment, the future doesn't seem quite so bleak.

Jana is already waiting impatiently when her mother comes home. She looks at her face and immediately realizes that something good has happened.

“Mom, how was it?”

Stephanie smiles and sits down next to her on the couch.

"It was impressive. The house, the conditions, everything. I think this could be a real opportunity for us, Jana."

“That sounds great!” Jana is excited and can hardly contain her joy. “What do we do now?”

"I think I'll take the job," Stephanie says calmly. "We could live there together and start over. It won't be easy, but it could be exactly what we need."

Jana beams with relief and excitement.

"I knew it was a good idea! We can do it, Mom. We can do it together."

Stephanie pulls her daughter into a hug. "Yes, we do, Jana. We do."

And in that moment, in the warmth of that embrace, hope for a better future begins to blossom again, and the house they could soon call home no longer seems like just a dream, but a tangible possibility, a new beginning that they both need so much.

Chapter 3 - Faith and Gil

The air in Worthing now carries the chill of the approaching evening, and Faith's breath paints delicate clouds in the falling dusk. Her hands lie quietly in her lap, fingers intertwined, while her dark eyes are fixed on a point in the distance. Muffled voices drift across the street, fragments of conversations she neither knows nor really wants to understand. Faith's hair, deep brown like a forest in shadow, moves slightly in the evening breeze that sweeps across the veranda.

The house behind her is quiet. It is always quiet, but in the kind of quiet that is not calming, but rather like taking a breath that is too long and eventually turns into restlessness. Faith bought it a few years ago, this small one-story building with its three rooms and its touch of minimalism that doesn't feel entirely intentional. The furniture, modern yet with a raw, almost archaic aesthetic, is evidence that she has made an effort to give this place character. Yet it remains a house, not a home.

The trees that line her garden stand around her like silent sentinels. Their heavy branches bend under the weight of dusk, and the last light of day plays between the leaves, painting flickering shadows on the ground.

---ENDE DER LESEPROBE---