But at what price?

Far too great a price, without doubt. She knew that she had committed a criminal act, even if she had no idea what classification it had. Jeanette was not willing to give up her own well-being for the sake of a group of strangers. She didn’t owe them anything, she really didn’t. And even if her well-being wasn’t great at the moment, she had made her choice down there in the ravine, and she couldn’t change that. It was too late to fix this. She didn’t want to spend years in prison for it—she wouldn’t survive that.

No one would feel better for knowing that she’d had a relationship with the missing man. It would merely add salt to the wound.

JEANETTE BARELY SLEPT at night. Despite her entire being downright screaming for rest, her brain refused to relax. Instead, it would paint ghastly pictures on the inside of her eyelids that made her heart pound and her skin sweat so much her sheets darkened with perspiration.

In a feverish half-torpor, she saw the man in the metal wreckage deep within the inaccessible ravine. The face damaged beyond recognition, covered in wounds and bruises. The shard of glass like a spike in his throat, and eyes that would open without warning and plead for help that never came. The rib cage that rose to permit a solitary, rasping breath, blood pulsing through the open wound on the forehead.

Fantasy and reality merged into one, and she lay there tossing and turning through the nights, unable to reason her way to relief in her conscience-stricken state.

It was only during the day that some sense took hold, when her rational inner voice had a little room to manoeuvre. But the restless nights took their toll and the lack of sleep led to something that began to seem like depression.

And the days passed.

Our beloved

Charlotte

Wretberg

Born 3 July 2003

Loved and missed

16 September 2009

MUM and DAD

Granny

Grandma and Grandpa

Friends and family

———

No longer can I caress

your cheek

No longer can I squeeze

your hand

You have reached

another land

Where nothing can hurt you

———

Funeral service

at Västerhejde Church

Friday, 2 October

11:00

The ceremony ends

after saying farewell

at the church.

Please remember

Charlotte

by donating to

the Childhood Cancer Foundation.

MAY

2018

9

Sandra

IT WAS A slightly chilly but beautiful spring evening, and the blackbirds and willow wrens were competing in the auditorium that was her parents’ garden. It hadn’t rained for some time, so Erik and his grandfather were keeping busy by watering the shrubs. Sandra could hear her father explaining in full detail to his grandchild how important it was to water in the evening. Erik listened to everything his grandfather said with great interest. He adored his grandparents and the love was undeniably mutual. Erik was at least as spoilt as she had been during her own childhood. But you could hardly be loved too much, she told herself.