What am I doing here, by the roadside in the depths of the woods, on my way to Leah’s mountain cabin? Am I regressing into irrational behavior after having come so far? Nobody knows that I am here, not even Eirik. I think it’s because of Eirik that I’ve come here. Doing something out of character like driving halfway across Norway to check on Leah feels like a little rebellion against my husband’s relentless recent travel schedule. Though I am fully aware of the demands of Eirik’s political career, I sometimes can’t help but feel this isn’t what I signed up for. I worry about the toll on our marriage as his public profile grows, and that an ever-increasing distance will open up between us. There are times when I wake in the night and listen to Eirik’s soft, even breathing in the dark, and it feels like being in bed with a stranger. But there are also the times that he pulls me close and looks me in the eyes and strokes me all over, and I feel close to him again.

I get back in the car, rubbing my icy hands together, but wait a moment to start the engine. I feel a deep trepidation in my gut that isn’t entirely unpleasant. As disturbing and worrying as the developments of the past ten days have been, Leah’s dramatic exit from the therapy room and apparent disappearance have dominated my thoughts, giving me something other than Elisabeth’s suicide to think about. Like with Leah, I was the last person to see Elisabeth alive. Like Leah, Elisabeth trusted me with her innermost thoughts. Or so I believed.

I don’t want to think about Elisabeth, not now; I want to just block her life and death from my thoughts and my heart, but I know better than anybody that it doesn’t work like that. Elisabeth will always be on my mind. Elisabeth, whose talent for self-destruction overshadowed everything else – how wonderful she was, how intelligent, how good at her beautiful art she was, how very loved. But like most lifelong addicts, no matter how functional at times, she ultimately loved the needle more than anything else, including herself. And it killed her.

Tears again. Jesus, I’m not going to go there now. I have spoken about Elisabeth constantly in my own therapy sessions; about how it felt like she was a part of me – a shadow with a penchant for darkness. I am wracked with guilt over how her life ended. It came after a long period when she had showed so much promise and improvement. I wish, so deeply, that things could have been different. That she could have made better choices. I take a few deep breaths and center myself in the moment. This isn’t about Elisabeth, or me; it’s about Leah.