Chapter Thirty-four He had arrived late the evening before in Venice. He didn't think that he could live with the dull ache in his heart much longer. It was worse for having tasted happiness with her. He still rolled over in the middle of the day half asleep, reaching for her and wondering where she was. Then he'd wake up and remember she was gone. Now sitting in his villa, he couldn't decide what to do. Nothing appealed to him. He didn't need to feed. He was restless but didn't want to go walking along the streets. Listlessly, he stared out the window, watching the starlight reflect off the canal just outside his home. [I've lost her.] She wasn't taking his calls, hadn't responded to his e-mail. All attempts at communicating with her had been met with silence. He prayed they could come to some sort of arrangement about visitation rights for their child. He closed his eyes, resting his head on his hands. [Face it, Anton. She's gone, and you have to learn to live without her, for your child's sake.] He stood up, walking aimlessly around the living room. One picture caught his eye - the one he brought with him. Every place he had stayed, he placed a picture of him and Bryn somewhere he could see it. Reaching out and picking it up, he felt a tear trail out of the corner of his eye. He looked into their smiling faces. The picture had been taken in front of the Palace of Fine Arts in the Golden Gate Park in San Francisco. He was leaning over her, face level with hers. Her hands tightly held onto his arms, which were clasped around her. They were both laughing at something the photographer had just said to them. They were both happy and full of hope and love. He pulled the picture tight against his chest and let his tears fall freely now. On the cobblestone street below, she looked up at the address on the door and smiled. It had taken a lot of work to come this far, both literally and mentally. After over a week without him, and more soul searching than she'd ever done in her life, she felt rejuvenated. Not like a new person—-no transformation ever worked that fast--but now she had the ene