GOING BACK I checked the time on my watch once again. It would take another thirty minutes to arrive at Athens airport and then, in a couple of hours, I would be in Corinth for the night. I was trying not to think about having to stay in the big house by the sea, where I had spent the best moments of my life a year ago, determined to take one step each time, acting according to the plan I had devised in every detail all those months of my obligatory confinement until I was able to walk again. The next morning, with the first light of day, I would set out on my search for the Crusaders. A year without Christopher. It hadn’t been easy. I had to fight against my physical endurance, against my own body. It was my heart versus my wounded body. I had endured all those months of physiotherapy, countless pills, too much crying, self-pity and unbearable sleepless nights in pain and despair. But I hadn’t given up. I had to get over the persistency of my spine to remain immobile, as soon as possible.
