Anastasia put her heavy shopping bags on the floor in front of her flat. Finding the key in her handbag was never too easy, a mission impossible with her hands full.

She searched impatiently through the large quantity of small things she always carried inside her oversized bag, objects she never really used. A habit that Ana had developed when her now grown-up daughter was still a small girl. Finally, under the mountain of packs of wet wipes, several packets of tissues, a couple of cereal bars, too many spare hair bands, and a box of chewing gums, she found it.

Feeling victorious, she unlocked the door and half dragged, half carried the shopping inside. Her timid smile, caused by the flood of memories brought back by the things found in her handbag, disappeared fast. Yet again, she realised that there was no one else, waiting for her at home with open arms but silence. She still missed the light patter of small feet running on the carpet as soon as she unlocked the door, followed by an excited, "Hi mummy, I missed you!" The happy, welcoming sounds that would never return.

Anastasia switched on the lights to feel a little less alone and walked into the kitchen, followed only by her own shadow. After a moment, she decided to put all the groceries away, sorting them out between the fridge and the cupboards. There was no reason to cook, as she was the only one to eat at home, as usual. She couldn't even remember when her husband, Paul, came home for dinner the last time, and she was bored of cooking just for herself.

Natalia, her daughter, had moved out months ago, and Paul took that as a sign, a permission to stop coming home for dinner. Not that he had spent much time at home before, but with Natalia around, his often absence wasn't quite as painful. These days, Ana found herself alone every evening, feeling abandoned and forgotten. Unloved, somehow... and useless...

She sighed deeply and reached for the half full bottle of red wine that stood on the large, otherwise empty dining table. She poured herself a half glass and sat down. This was one of her typical evenings. She would eat something, maybe. Then, she would take a long shower and later fall asleep reading in bed. Maybe she would wake up when Paul came home, or maybe they would just stumble into each other in the morning, somewhere in the flat, before they both left for the day...

Ana's eyes strolled to the large picture hanging on the wall in front of her. However sad she felt, it always managed to bring her some solace. The picture was there since they moved in this flat years ago, and she had memorised it in the smallest detail.

Nonetheless, she observed it silently again while sipping her wine.

Mont Saint-Michel.

The small, medieval village was bathed in the setting sun, disappearing slowly in the boundless sea. The modern causeway built over the shallow waters and marshes surrounding the small island lay half hidden in the shadows of the approaching night. Everything in the picture looked so strangely calm and peaceful. The proverbial quiet before the storm. The threatening clouds gathering above the rooftops were a clear sign of the imminent downpour. Anastasia could imagine the scent of the ocean and the smell of the air, charged with the electricity of the approaching storm.

She loved that picture; she always wished to travel there and see that place with her own eyes. Ana was fascinated by the history and legends of this little French town. But the workaholic of her husband did not like travelling. They never went anywhere. Paul always had too much work to do, phone calls to make and important dinners to attend. The picture of Mont Saint-Michel hanging above their dining table, which once looked like a possible holiday destination, had become an unreachable mirage. An oasis in the desert that Anastasia's life had become. Only a refuge for her mind.

Ana had just finished her wine when her phone rang.

"Hi, mum." Natalia's voice was a welcome distraction from Ana's thoughts. "What are you up to?"

"Hi, honey. Nothing much. Tell me about you instead, I'm sure that's more interesting," she replied.

"Let me guess," Natalia said, refusing to change the subject. "You are sitting in the kitchen. Maybe with a glass of wine in your hand. Dad's missing, as usual, and you are staring at that picture..."

"Ok Nat, now please tell me something I don't know." Ana really didn't want to talk about this. Again.

"Fine, here you are. I'll tell you something new. Pack your luggage. You are going on holiday," Natalia announced, giggling silently.

"Natalia, what are you talking about? Did your dad..."

"No, no, no, don't get your hopes high. Dad's not coming. To be honest, he doesn't even know that you are going. I booked you a room in The Mermaid, in Mont Saint-Michel. You are lucky they still had some rooms left."

"Nat! How... why... are you crazy? I can't just..." Anastasia blurted out. She stood up and walked to the window as if she were hoping to find some answers in the darkness behind the glass.

"Yes, you can. Didn't you say you are on holiday from tomorrow? Tell me again, what did you plan to do? Wash the windows, paint my old room... That can wait, mum, you can do that anytime."

Anastasia knew that what Natalia said was true, but still...

"Go on, start packing. Your bus is leaving at nine in the morning. Mont Saint-Michel is not even that far; you'll be there in about six hours. I can't believe you had never resolved to go there before; you love that picture so much!"

Natalia was right. It was the story of Anastasia's life. There were so many things she wanted to do, but never did, feeling weighed down and anchored by her daily routine and responsibilities.

"Mum, don't sweat it. This is your perfect occasion. Pack. Take the bus. Go. Have fun. For once. Please!"

"But what about your father?" Ana asked, worried, but already thinking about the trip.

"Just leave him a message. Tell him to call me, I'll explain everything. Let's see how long it will take him to notice you're gone."

"Natalia! Stop it. He is just overworked." She wasn't even able to fool herself; why did she expect her daughter to believe this?

"Ok, mum, whatever. Just make sure you get ready. Text me when you're on the bus. Love you."

"Love you too, honey. And thank you!" she exclaimed before she hung up.

Slowly, Ana turned back to her picture. She was going on holiday. Tomorrow. To Mont Saint-Michel. Excitement started coursing through her veins after a very long time, and it felt good.

Before going to bed, she packed her luggage and wrote a note to Paul.
Anastasia was still up when he came home, well after midnight. He didn't even come to see if she was sleeping and slept, not for the first time, in Natalia's old room.

In the morning, Ana stayed in the bedroom until she heard him closing the front door. Then she got dressed and tidied up, leaving her note on the dining table, before she left for the bus station.

As Anastasia walked down the road, she noticed that the morning air was somehow different. For the first time ever, it tasted of adventure and dreams fulfilled.

What will Paul do when he finds out? The thought worried her for a while, but not too much. Because anything he did, whatever came out of this, at least he would notice that his wife existed, that she was still there.

Actually, that she wasn't there.