A gentle breeze blew through the open landscape and the leaves settled like a colorful blanket on the soft forest floor. Everything was bathed in the red-hot glow of the sunset. Outside the forest in the west was a long, wide hill. Almost completely hidden behind old oak trees and bushes. But in a place furthest to the east, the trees were not as dense, the bush throw gave way to the now narrow path that wound through all the green like a snake through the landscape. From the top of that path, there was a beautiful view of a small town and the surrounding protective mountains. At the foot of the mountains, where the forest ended and the city came into view, there was a small clearing. Far away from everything else, surrounded by forest on all sides, was a small, yellow-colored house. More like a dilapidated shed than a house. It had been a long time since anyone had been in it. Many years. The grey-yellow colour that had once covered the walls had peeled off in several places and the bad, collapsed roof. In front of it was a small, round clearing with a dried-up well where the bricks had fallen off in several places. There was just a hole in the ground. On the edge of the destroyed well sat a dark figure. Hunched over with his head turned towards the mountains with a painful pull across his face. The wind whipped her short hair in her face and squealed through the tall treetops, but she just sat there, fragile and small. As if the wind was far too strong and could blow her down over the broken well at any second. The house she was sitting in front of was just an old ruin of clay and straw sticking out from the ground. The creaking door, which had previously stood as a solid wall that hid the dark stable from the rest of the world, lay flung to the ground.

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A sobbing, quiet sound filled the air as she walked through the low ceiling, dragged herself towards the house. As if she were a ghost. Cold and lifeless. His face betrayed no emotion, his eyes hard and sore at the same time.  She just stood there, right inside and looked around. On the poor remains of what had once been a kitchen, some old iron kettles and s... With her eyes fixed on one of the repetitions, she walked with slow steps. Her hands trembled as she reached out and grabbed the animal-shaped kitchen slide. She was shaking so hard that she could barely hold it. The ladle was still as whole. A long, uneven wooden spoon with the tip shaped like a small owl. Suddenly, a low thump was heard as the wooden ladle hit the ground.  She threw it away as if it were of fire and not cool, hard wood. His body shook from the cold. With her back to the door, she walked step by step away from the boilers, from the house and all the memories. She stood in the doorway and looked back one last time. A long, black tear rolled down her face as she walked.

All the while, his hand clutched a sheet of paper that was yellow with age, densely written in a neat handwriting. As she ran out of the terrible house, her grip on the sheet loosened and it flew out of her hand, carried by the wind, and landed in the middle of the leaf-covered clay floor. It landed with the writing up. The sheet was cheap and bad and inked weakly. Only part of the letter, the last part, was still visible in the dim light.

I'm sorry, please forgive me. I'm sorry about that. Please. Forgive me. Forgive me.