III

Once his belongings were unpacked and his mind was occupied with the most basic necessities—Where will I eat? Where will I sleep tonight?—Jacob locked the door behind him and drove to IKEA. The store wasn’t in Amsterdam but in Haarlem, a city not far away. He got into his car, turned on the GPS, and then pressed play on his music.”Sleep on the Floor” by The Lumineers”. This song had become his mantra. He knew every frame of the music video by heart, could recite it as if it were a story he had lived himself. The lyrics resonated so deeply with his world that every time he listened, chills ran down his spine. He felt as if he were caught between heaven and earth. But no, this wasn’t peace or harmony. It was restlessness. A state of constant self- examination, of digging through memories he wasn’t ready to let go of. He was physically present in this moment, in this new life—but his thoughts remained in the past, with Amelia.

“The bed will be delivered on Monday… At least I managed to fit the mattress into the car, so I’ll have something to sleep on for the next two nights,” Jacob thought as he drove away from Haarlem.

On the way back, he stopped at a supermarket near his home—Albert Heijn. He only bought enough groceries for the next day. Since Amelia’s death, grocery shopping had become a ritual of sorts. He couldn’t bear being alone at home. The silence, the emptiness—it all gnawed at him from the inside. So, he deliberately avoided stocking up on too much. This way, he had a reason to leave the house again, even if just for a little while.

He unloaded the mattress and placed it near the massive floor-to-ceiling window in the living room. The view overlooked the central park, where in the mornings, he could lie down and watch people jogging or walking their dogs. Jacob hadn’t yet figured out the layout of his new home, but he knew one thing for sure—his bed would be by the windows. He wanted to wake up to the morning sun, its golden rays brushing against his cheeks and eyelids, gently pulling him from sleep. It was a warm memory from his past life. On weekends, he and Amelia would bask in bed, letting the sunlight wrap around them. It was a ritual they both cherished. Sometimes, Jacob would wake up first and simply watch as the light danced across Amelia’s freckled cheeks. He would gently tuck her hair behind her ear, wanting to see her more clearly. His fingers would trace the curve of her forehead, then move down to her cheeks, then her neck. He could never get enough of her, especially in the morning glow. Her freckles didn’t just cover her face; they spilled over her arms, dotting her skin like constellations. He would run his fingers across them, making goosebumps rise over her body. He could always tell when she was waking up—her lips would curve into the faintest smile, but she wouldn’t move. She liked to pretend she was still asleep. Jacob played along, letting his fingertips continue their slow journey down her neck, then lower, toward her chest. Words had no place in moments like these. Looking at her—the curve of her waist, the softness of her body, the way her hair spread across the pillow—he knew there were no words in any language that could truly describe her beauty. And there was no need for them. All he could do was stay silent and admire.