"So, before it gets too mysterious, let's celebrate and see what the evening has in store." He looked around, saw only confused faces, and quickly continued. "And let's drink to that. To surprise, novelty, and curiosity!" He raised his glass, the guests raised theirs, while they looked at each other in confusion and shrugged their shoulders. "Now he's completely lost it," muttered a woman with towering red hair and an overpowering perfume, which fortunately lost the battle against the freshly served bouillabaisse. "Psst," hissed her husband, who was a little disheveled but now sat next to her as if electrified, and who had hardly been capable of such a sharp hissing sound until now. Petra Sitta, German Psychoanalytic Society (DPG); IPPF Freiburg Just as he was about to address the assembled guests, he lost his voice. It was the disapproving gaze of his father that silenced him—cold, stern, just as it had always been. He felt the heat rising in his cheeks, powerless to stop it. Damn it. This was the one thing that wasn’t supposed to happen. Then his eyes caught Katharina’s compassionate glance. She knew. She always knew. How many nights had they spent talking about his father, and about him? And yet, even now—on his fifty-fifth birthday—that hostile, diminishing look still struck him with its old, annihilating force. You are, and always have been, a disappointment to me! the gaze declared. You will never measure up to me! And worst of all: Why was it your gifted, wonderful sister who died, and not you in her place? He shuddered inwardly, tried to gather himself, and cleared his throat, as though searching for courage, for a new beginning. Here he was, surrounded by friends, his wife, his colleagues—all people who liked him, who valued him. Was all his analysis, all those years of therapy, for nothing? He scolded himself. He drew in a deep breath, let his eyes rest on Katharina’s encouraging smile, and then on the friendly, expectant faces of his friends. “ How wonderful that you all came today ,” he began—and to his relief, his voice grew stronger with each word. Warmth coursed through him, and he exhaled audibly. “ It gives me great joy to spend a week in Portugal with you, to celebrate my fifty-fifth birthday together. Time has become so precious in all our lives, and the greatest gift you could give me is to share a week of yours with me. Here, in my old homeland, a place that fills me with beautiful memories and warms my heart. I deeply regret that my mother and my sister are no longer with us to share this time—but they are with us in
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