Back then, I had gone through something similar when I was still with my IT boyfriend. We both felt the need to find a place of our own, so we started looking for a rental apartment in a flat. It all happened quite quickly, partly because he was studying at university and receiving student funding, and I had a disability benefit. The search for an apartment gave us something to look forward to—a goal to work towards. The idea of having a home of our own, a place where we could build a future together.
Once we found an apartment and my IT boyfriend finished his studies, life quickly turned into that picture-perfect script: house, tree, little animal. He landed a good job straight away in the fast-growing IT world. Everything seemed perfect—a company car, a comfortable life. From the outside, the picture was complete. But inside, something kept gnawing at me.
As he lost himself in his work and became a true workaholic, I felt more and more alone. Even at night, he would leave for the office, as if the glow of his monitors mattered more than our conversations. The pressure of that life began to suffocate me. I had spent half my teenage years in hospitals, in a body that kept letting me down. And now I found myself here—in a life that had been mapped out for me, a comfortable but suffocating bed I didn’t belong in. My wild side hadn’t disappeared. Deep down, I felt an overwhelming urge for something more—something that was truly mine.
One day, I made a decision that changed everything. I ended the relationship with my IT boyfriend, walked away from that comfortable life, and moved to a new city. I wanted to feel the energy of the city, but not one so big that I would lose myself in it. This new place felt safer—smaller, but alive. I already knew a few people there, like my ex’s best friend, who had also become my friend. That gave me something to hold on to in this new environment.
That city became my playground, my escape. My local bar became my second home, a place where I could be found almost every evening. I dove headfirst into nightlife, doing everything a rebellious teenager would do—except hard drugs. I smoked, I partied, and I lived as if there were no tomorrow. Until one night, reality hit hard.
I was so drunk that I fell off my bar stool and didn’t even feel the ground when I hit it. That moment became a turning point. I could have broken my back. That fall was the wake-up call I needed. It was time to change direction. Time to step out of that whirlwind of intoxication and recklessness, and take responsibility.
I started looking for a part-time job and slowly took control of my life again. At my local bar, I mentioned that I was looking for work. As luck would have it, someone from an employment agency had left a card at the bar that week with the message: “If you hear of anyone looking for work, we still have openings.” I seized the opportunity and called the number.
On the other end of the line was the voice of Wordfather—though at the time, I had no idea he would one day become the father of my children. He asked if I could come by to register. The job would be at an airport. Not long after, I found myself standing there, ready to sign up. A week later, I found a note under my door asking me to call him back—he had found a job for me. When I called, he asked how my German was. “Not great,” I admitted honestly. German had always been a disaster for me. My oral exam had been a complete failure; I couldn’t get a single proper sentence out. The more I tried, the more I got tangled in my own words. I couldn’t sink any lower, I thought at the time.
When the exam was finally over, the teacher looked me straight in the eye and asked, “Do you promise you’ll never do anything with German?”
I couldn’t help but laugh and replied, without hesitation, “No, I will never do anything with German.”
He smiled and said, “Then I’ll give you a 5.5.”
That tiny bit of mercy just barely got me through.
Wordfather laughed when I told him and said, “Don’t say anything—just go to the interview. At least you’ll get in.”
And he was right. The interview went smoothly, and I got the job in billing. The company felt right, and I quickly found my place there. My life began to revolve around work—and that was fine. At that point, it was all I needed. Still, Wordfather had to remind me again and again to submit my hours on time and send in my timesheets—something I was notoriously careless about. The funny part was that I had to send those tiny timesheets in ridiculously large envelopes because there were no smaller ones anywhere in the company.
One day, a German client called with questions about an invoice, and the call was transferred to me. I broke out in a sweat. Everyone in the department looked at me, because my supposed German skills were one of the reasons I had been hired. I picked up the phone, trying to sound confident, and said: “Sprechen du English?” To my relief, the client replied, “Ja, yes.” The entire department burst out laughing. Yes, I had been exposed—but I was good at my job. And that was noticed. After three months, I was offered a one-year contract.
We had made a deal: if I got through my probation period, Wordfather and I would go for a drink at the local bar—the same bar that turned out to be his regular spot as well. That evening, somewhere between the drinks and the conversations, our relationship began.
True to form, I managed—of course—to injure myself at work. I stepped into an open binder I had left on the floor, and my foot was pierced straight through the thick sole of my shoe. A trip to the emergency room followed, where it turned out I had been lucky—a deep but clean wound. Because I couldn’t travel on public transport for a while, Wordfather offered to drive me. Before long, I started staying over at his place—it was simply more practical.
Everything moved fast. Too fast, really. Three months later, I found out I was pregnant. Even the morning-after pill hadn’t worked. Truthfully, I had never wanted children, partly because of my back problems. The appointment at the abortion clinic had already been made.
But one evening, as I lay in the bath, a deep sense of doubt washed over me. I thought about the tiny life growing inside me. The hormones were undoubtedly playing their part, but what I decided that night would change my life forever. ❤️
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