Sunday morning arrived lazy and slow, sunlight slipping through the thin curtains of my Charlottenburg apartment in pale gold strips across the bed.

I woke up tangled in sheets that still smelled faintly of hospital laundry and the lavender body wash I had used last night, body heavy with the kind of exhaustion that comes from a week of new routines.

"Gosh...I need a better apartment," I muttered.

Anyone would call it a lazy morning. I didn't rush - just lay there for a while listening to distant traffic and the soft tick of the radiator, letting the quiet settle over me like a blanket.

I could have sworn I...