He walked the narrow road up the hill. It was dark, but the moon was coming up on the other side of the valley. His feet were heavy, his eyesight blurry. She was gone. She had taken her belongings and left. No explanation. Not even a goodbye. Slowly he had realised she would not come back.
He could hear an owl calling. A small one, a beautiful whistling sound. He followed it. There was an old house on the top of the hill. He had seen it from town, but never been up there. He heard the call again. It came from the house.
The door was open, fallen off its hinges.
The old stairs was creaking as he walked. A ladder lead up to the attic.
The room was small, partly lit up by the moonlight. The bird was sitting in the window. Its body facing out towards the road he had come up from. Its face was turned towards him, watching him. Judging him.
For a while they stood there. watching each other.
The owl flew away, out of the window. Over the treetops, the houses. Disappeared in a distance.
He knew now, why she had left him, but now it was too late.
He had taken her freedom away.