Chapter 19: A Tableau of Solitude and Triumph

"In a city of dragons and dreams, the hardest battle is silencing the echoes of a past that refuses to sleep."

 — Anonymous

The roar from Millennium Stadium shook the tiny window of Alex’s room, rattling the single bed huddled against the wall. Another rugby match and reminder of how life hummed through Welsh capital Cardiff while he lay here, alone in a space barely bigger than a closet. Welsh twilight, seen through the thin pane of his small side window, cast long shadows over his few possessions, everything he needed for his humble existence. Rolling onto his side, Alex traced the crack in the ceiling with tired eyes. The sounds of the crowd swelled again, their collective voice a tidal wave washing over the city. From his vantage point opposite the stadium, he could almost taste their excitement, joy and their belonging. Only these were all emotions that felt foreign to him now.

The landlord, together with other Lithuanians, shares the same roof, as if fate had gathered a community abroad. Each has their own room with the barest essentials. Alex, arriving here, had little choice, given an attic room with a narrow bed that creaked at every movement and a wardrobe that barely held his meager clothing. The miniature window beside the bed seemed to mock him, offering teasing glimpses of the Welsh sky and a small fraction of the castle across the river, with the full light of day forever out of reach.

Beyond his window, Cardiff spread out like an architectural web. The city wore its history proudly, from the medieval castle walls to the ultra-modern city center office complexes next door to the ultra-fancy buildings in Cardiff Bay. Riding his motorbike daily, Alex watched Cardiff Bay come alive—transforming from the heart of industrial Wales into a cultural oasis, where the red-brick Pierhead fortress stands beside the grandeur of the National Opera and the glassy lines of the Welsh Parliament.

His phone buzzed—another message from Anatig containing a video that he couldn't bring himself to watch yet.  It read, "Vilhelm learned a new word today." Each update was a bittersweet reminder of the life he'd left behind, of moments slipping through his fingers like sand.

The stadium erupted again, this time in a chorus of disappointment. Alex checked his watch—nearly time for collection. Reaching the rental car depot would require him to maneuver through the post-match crowd on his fold-up motorcycle, dodging rivers of rugby jerseys and happy drunk Welsh team fans. The same motorbike he'd learned to ride in three frantic days after arriving, another survival skill acquired out of necessity rather than choice.

Standing at the stairwell window, Alex watched the crowds begin to disperse, the shared energy of Wales and England rugby fans dissolving into Cardiff’s gathering dusk. Red dragons on flags and jerseys caught the fading light—proud symbols of a culture he desperately tried to understand. Below, a group of friends stumbled past, their laughter echoing off ancient walls, arms linked in easy, swaying camaraderie. Alex turned away, the familiar ache of isolation settling in his chest.

Descending the stairs, he gathered his work clothes, every gesture deliberate in the trap of confinement, before stepping down the creaking stairs into the embrace of the Welsh night. The room, though small, was a foothold, a beginning. Every shift, every mile on the motorbike, every lonely night was a step toward bringing his family here. And he had to cling to that promise like a lifeline in the waters of solitude. As he walked outside, Alex caught his reflection in the door window—a ghost against the darkening sky, transparent enough to see Cardiff Castle's silhouette through his own image. Alex zipped up his jacket, grabbed his helmet, and stepped out into the Welsh evening. The metaphor wasn't lost on him. In this city of dragons and castles, of ancient stone and modern steel, he was still searching for his own substance, his own place in the story of time. 

The stadium lights dimmed, signaling the end of another match. Another day in Cardiff drawing to a close. The city's pulse continued its steady beat, indifferent to his presence, while somewhere across the sea, his son was learning new words in a language he couldn't hear. Remembering the motorbike instructor's words in the Welsh drizzle. "Wrong side again, mate." Alex tightly grasped the handlebars, his knuckles hidden beneath worn gloves mirroring his silent struggle, as if clinging to the edge of a dream. Three days to learn what locals had known since childhood—driving on the left, thinking in reverse and surviving Cardiff's roundabouts. The crushing necessity of the moment bore down, heavier than the helmet clamped around his skull, its surreal influence squeezing his thoughts into a haze of duty and dread.

“Again,” the instructor commanded. Alex swallowed his frustration and started the engine. The job waited for no one—deliver cars, fold up the bike, stow it in trunks, repeat.  This dance of survival he had to master…and quickly.

Days blurred into weeks. Alex learned to navigate both the physical and social landscapes of his new world, though neither came naturally. At work, colleagues invited him to pubs, their easy laughter and inside jokes highlighting his outsider status. He declined more often than not, each invitation an exercise in awkward explanations. "Come on, mate, one pint won't kill you," they'd insist, not understanding for Alex that one pint meant one less pound saved, one step further from reuniting his family.

Evenings, if the grueling shifts hadn’t stretched too late, Alex shuffled back to the attic room’s dimness. Shedding his helmet, he opened his laptop, fingers trembling on the keyboard, awaiting Skype’s rings, each echo lengthening like a thread tying him to Vilhelm through the dark. Suddenly—“Dad!” Vilhelm’s face bloomed on the screen, blurry but precious as a treasure. “Look what I drew!” His son flashed a drawing—stick figures linked across ocean waves, a dream Alex carried in his heart. "Dad!" Vilhelm's face filled the screen, pixelated and precious. "Look what I drew!" His son thrust a paper toward the camera—a family portrait, stick figures holding hands across what looked like an ocean.

"That's beautiful, buddy." Alex's throat tightened. "Are those waves the sea between us?"

"No, Dad. It's the road to Cardiff! When can we come?" Behind Vilhelm, Anatig appeared, dark circles under her eyes matching Alex's own. Their gazes met through the digital divide, volumes spoken in silence. "Soon," Alex lied, the word bitter on his tongue. After the call ended, he pulled out his notepad, adding to his nightly calculations. Rent, food, school fees, deposits—the numbers danced mockingly across the page. His salary, stretched thin as tissue paper, barely covered his own expenses.

In rare moments of weakness, occasionally, dreading being seen as a loner, Alex trailed his colleagues to a raucous Cardiff pub, where the scent of beer mingled with rugby cheers and red dragon jerseys flickered under lamplight. Eager to stay friendly, he nodded along to their jests about weekends and disappointed wives, his smile masking unease, wondering why connection had to be steeped in alcohol. To avoid seeming an outsider, he drank as they did, yet his thoughts wandered to Vilhelm’s drawings on his phone, the only true bond in his heart. Still, the pub was not his place—Alex’s true self dwelt elsewhere, in quiet solitude. At night, when the stadium’s roar faded and Cardiff’s streets emptied, he paced his attic room, seven steps from wall to wall. Self-doubt whispered that he couldn’t fit in, that he was different, somehow not normal, but a deeper voice insisted that empty chatter, alcohol, and drugs were not his path. Every work shift was a countdown—not just to the next paycheck, but to the day Vilhelm, asked about coming to Cardiff, would hear his “Yes.”

That one morning came, checking his account balance, Alex noticed something different. Months of careful saving had finally begun to show. It wasn't much—barely enough for a deposit on a proper flat—but it was something.

That evening, during the Skype call, he allowed himself to smile when Anatig asked about their future. "Things are changing," he said, meaning it for the first time. "I think I might have some good news soon." The hope in her eyes was almost too much to bear. Alex knew the road ahead was still long and uncertain, but as he ended the call and looked out over Cardiff's twinkling lights, he felt something shift inside him. The city no longer seemed quite so foreign and hostile. Tomorrow would bring more challenges—more deliveries, more cultural misunderstandings and more lonely meals in his tiny room; but for now, Alex held onto that glimmer of progress, that small victory in his battle against isolation and doubt. In the distance, the stadium lights flickered off, leaving him alone with his thoughts and the growing possibility of a future where Vilhelms's stick-figure drawing might become reality.  

It all began with The WhatsApp message from his manager sharing "Position Available—Fleet Manager's Assistant." Alex read it twice, his coffee growing cold beside him. After months of delivering cars through Cardiff's rain-slicked streets, a chance at something more. The interview room felt smaller than his bedroom. "Your dedication hasn't gone unnoticed," his supervisor said, shuffling papers that contained Alex's future. "But this role requires complete commitment and more working hours. Are you prepared for that?" Alex thought of Vilhelm's drawings. "Absolutely," he replied, the word carrying the gravity of three most important lives. The promotion brought immediate changes. The salary increase felt like breathing after being underwater—not luxury, but survival with dignity. "You've moved up quickly," commented James, his landlord, during a rare lunch break. "Most folks take years to reach assistant manager." Alex nodded, not mentioning the nights spent studying fleet management protocols or the weekends sacrificed to understanding the greenway system. Success wasn't a ladder he was climbing; it was a lifeline he was gripping. The face looking back at him had changed—sharper, more focused, carrying the quiet confidence of competence.

His phone buzzed with a message from Anatig: "Vilhelm's kindergarten school needs to know about next term. Should I start looking in Cardiff?" His fingers hovered over the keyboard. The numbers in his savings account finally had substance. The spreadsheet he'd created months ago, tracking every penny, showed green instead of red. More importantly, his position now carried the stability that he looked for. "Yes," he typed back, his heart racing. "Start looking."

The next weeks passed in a blur of preparation. During the day, Alex managed fleets of vehicles, his efficiency earning nods from senior management. At night, he scoured rental listings, school reviews and immigration requirements. His room became a command centre for Operation Family Reunion—walls covered with sticky notes and printouts. The promotion to full fleet manager came faster than anyone expected—anyone except Alex, who had worked toward it with single-minded intensity, commitment, and dedication to get better. The congratulatory emails filled his inbox, but only one message mattered: "Your family application has been accepted and will be reviewed. Standing in his office—a real office now, with a door and a window overlooking rental fleet cars—Alex allowed himself a moment of pride. The view had changed from his bedside’s sliver of sky to this panorama of a busy workplace that he was in charge of. On his desk, next to the fleet management reports and scheduling software, sat a photo of Vilhelm and Anatig, their smiles no longer pixelated through Skype.

He picked up his office phone to call the real estate agent about the house in Cardiff Bay. As he dialed, his eye caught the reflection on his computer screen—a man who had transformed from survival mode to success. The stadium still stood visible in the distance, but now it felt less like a reminder of his isolation and more like a landmark pointing home. "Yes, I'd like to proceed with the house rental application," he said into the phone, his voice steady with certainty. "My family will be arriving next month."

Nine months later, a reunion happened. The family, now whole and brimming with hope, nestled themselves into a charming abode in a newly minted estate on the outskirts of Cardiff Bay. It wasn't just a house—it was a two-bedroom haven with a living room downstairs and a front garden, a realm of dreams slowly taking shape. Just a minute's walk away, Vilhelm joined a school that promised new friendships and adventures, a place where he could weave his own mosaic of childhood memories.

Anatig's heart swelled with a joy that was twofold: not only was she reunited with her beloved husband in Ireland, but she also found herself in the comforting proximity of her dear sister who was her best friend, who along with her boyfriend, had made Cardiff their home as well.

The world seemed to conspire in their favor. Anatig embarked on a quest for employment, her spirit buoyed by the new beginnings. Alex, the family's steadfast anchor, navigated the bureaucratic seas to secure child support (government support for low income families), a process that culminated in what felt like a stroke of serendipity. When the support arrived, it seemed as though the universe itself was nodding in approval of their journey. Life unfolded like a beautiful, well-scripted play. Anatig found work as a housekeeper in a nearby hotel, adding another piece to the puzzle of their content existence. Everything was aligning seamlessly with the vision Alex had harbored in his heart. 

Years passed; the path to paradise drew closer, but the true trials had only begun—grueling hours, unending work, and exhaustion became the crucible where the first embers of family, respect, and eternal commitment began to glow. Alex’s job, a pillar of financial stability, sapped his strength, leaving only a shadow of exhaustion. Long hours chasing drivers through Cardiff’s bustling streets drove him to cigarettes and coffee, each puff a futile attempt to quell anxiety, each sip a battle against sleep. Family moments, so hard-won, faded under endless nights in the office, where planning and schedules drowned Vilhelm’s laughter. His health, a fragile foundation, began to crumble—cigarette after cigarette, fast food and red bull between calls, his heart started pounding not just from caffeine stimulation but from guilt that the dream of family, finally grasped, started slipping through his fingers like sand.

 NEXT WEEK! Chapter 20: The Rejected Child at the Threshold of Darkness

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