But there was one bright spot in all this pun: despite the spontaneity and lack of other flights, I was lucky enough to arrive in Toronto at ten in the evening.

My car was waiting for me in the airport car park. Very convenient.

Toronto! Hello, my favourite city! Full of life and lights! How nice it is to drive your roads in the evening! How nice to hear all the noise and clamour and see all the many mortals! How I missed you so much, even though I only parted from you for a short while!

The drive home from the airport did little to dispel my gloomy thoughts, but as I drove up to the penthouse, I was displeased to discover that my neighbour, the very same Troy, was having a raucous party. So before I reached the car park, I made a sharp U-turn and headed for the nightclub. But I couldn't forget. As soon as I started kissing the victim, I was suddenly so disgusted that I threw the admirer away from me and, stunned by the feelings of filth and contempt that engulfed me, I almost ran out of the club, got into my car and raced home at breakneck speed. Embraced by a feeling I'd never known before: self-loathing.

And I didn't care about Troy and his party!

Home… Home!

"What am I gonna do? What the hell am I supposed to do? I'm going crazy!" – I thought feverishly as I drove down the road, gripping the steering wheel of the car with nervous fingers. – How do I escape from myself? Where do I run to? To whom?"

– Get out of my way! – I shouted irritably, hitting the signal button, and then swerved into oncoming traffic, whizzing past a row of cars. – Idiots!

Some of them honked at me, but I didn't care. Then I turned onto the street I wanted and tried to get my thoughts in the right direction.

"I know who I can forget everything that's troubling me with. Misha. My darling Misha!" I suddenly decided. – I'll book a ticket to Stockholm as soon as I get to the flat. I won't tell her. And even if Fredrik is there, I don't care! I don't care about the camera in my suitcase in Reykjavik, I don't care about anything! I need to hug my Misha, my sunshine. Listen to her, listen to her like a bird. She will heal my wounds with her singing."

After reaching the penthouse and receiving a hefty speeding ticket from a traffic officer, I reached my flat in a couple of seconds, switched on my MacBook, which I always had with me in my bag, and booked tickets to Stockholm. The closest flight was in four hours. Business class. No luggage. I didn't have time to pack a suitcase. And I didn't have a spare suitcase. That's weird. I fly so often. I should have got one… Anyway, it doesn't matter.

I was wearing a short leopard-striped dress, a short leather jacket, black boots on high thick heels. A bag with my documents, smartphone and MacBook. That's all I need.

Ahead is the loss of a part of my life again. The long journey back to Europe. Once again, flying halfway across the world back for salvation. To Misha.

Toronto – Boston – Reykjavik – Stockholm. I'll be there at 12 noon.

At the airport I checked the weather in Stockholm: it's going to be clear, warm and sunny.

But I don't care. Besides, it's not a problem at all.

Upon landing in Stockholm, I texted Misha a brief, "Are you home?"

"We're at the cottage on Venerna," she replied succinctly.

Shit. So they're not in their Stockholm home, but in the cottage where they lived before moving to the capital. The lake house. We'll have to go there.

"Are you in Stockholm?!" – came a new message from Misha a couple of seconds later.

I stopped at the airport exit, avoiding the sunlight falling just a metre away from me. I needed a car with tinted windows. But I didn't see one in the taxi rank. Without thinking, I called the right place, and half an hour later, a limousine came to pick me up. With almost black windows. I asked the driver to park as deep in the shadows of the airport as possible, and the people around me watched in amazement as I quickly got into the car.