All the inspirational lectures, the facing one's demons head-on content online, the 'don't run away from things' Ted Talks are bullshit with a capital B.

This is the conclusion that Emerynne Kaufmann has come to, as she sits staring unseeingly at the conifers huddle together and turn into a perpetual green streak. Hearing her mother sniffle, she turns away from the window, concerned.

In the driver's seat, Annika is crying again. "I'm sorry," she says upon noticing Emerynne watching, using the corner of her shawl to dab her cheeks.

"For what?" Emerynne has to ask, even though she knows what makes her feel so guilty.

"For everything," Annika replies, "I just wanted to save our marriage... make things the way they were before."

Before...

Emerynne remembers this 'before' her mother is talking about; after all, it's only been two years. Two years ago, Annika Kaufmann married the man she'd fallen in love with after an exhilarating whirlwind of a workplace romance – Johann Becker, star-salesman of the real estate company she'd worked as an accountant for. Charismatic, smooth-talking, and handsome, he swept her off her feet. They were together for nearly a year when he proposed marriage, and Annika said yes without hesitation. Emerynne remembers how excited her mother was, and she remembers how excited she herself was for her. They started out as the epitome of the perfect family; happy, in love with each other and the life they were building, living in one of the best neighborhoods of Vienna... and then, mere months into the marriage, Johann began showing his true colors.

"It's okay, mama..." Emerynne says softly, laying a hand on Annika's arm.

"I didn't realize it was too late until he—he—"

Sobs that Annika has been trying to control finally break free, stopping her midsentence as they wrack through her like an avalanche.

"You couldn't have known," says Emerynne, feeling helpless for she doesn't know else to convince her that they had no way of knowing about the shift in Johann. His gambling addiction, his alcoholism, and how those things turn him into a monster. Nobody saw underneath his masterfully crafted façade.

"But I should have!" Annika shakes her head vehemently. "If only I'd made the effort to—to..." she trails off, more sobs subduing her words. One of her hands is constantly wiping away at tears, her nose is runny, her face red from crying, and hair a tangled mess of a bun coming apart.

"People don't wear their vices like warning signs for others to see and avoid. It wasn't your fault," Emerynne asserts, for the umpteenth time today. "Don't beat yourself up like this. We're going to be okay now."

Childlike and unstable, Annika wipes her nose on the sleeve of her sweater. Given how emotionally fragile she is right now, Emerynne knows she will have to look after her like she is a child.

It is devastating to see her like this. The tortuous abuse she has faced at the hands of the man she gave all her love to has left her broken, in pieces that Emerynne is trying so hard to hold together. Gone is the Annika Kaufmann who always looked on the bright side of things, lived life doing what she loved, celebrated the littlest victories. Looking at her now, Emerynne searches for at least some semblance of the former woman. She sees things that sadden her more – frail shoulders, bleary eyes, a mask of arrant despair, a bare husk of the person she used to be. Their hardships have burned the life out of Annika until charred remains of her spirit are ashes winnowed away by the lightest breezes, leaving only this weeping woman behind.

"Let me drive on from here, mama?" implores Emerynne, her voice gentle and coaxing, aware that it is dangerous to let her mother navigate the winding montane roads in this condition.

Annika doesn't resist; she's too tired, it's apparent in the way she slumps forward a little. With a slight nod, she pulls over to the side of the highway. After they exchange seats, Emerynne continues their drive towards the small town of Hallstatt – their safe haven.

Glancing in the rearview mirror, Emerynne readjusts her scarf to make sure the day-old bruises are hidden – an act which has become almost habitual because of the number of times she has done it till now. Even the smallest peek of the purpling marks – a nebulous print of the hand that tried to squeeze the life out of her last night – brings back nightmarish memories. She can still feel the building pressure around her throat, the acid in her lungs, the sting of pain when her left arm hit the table as she thrashed to free herself. Shuddering, she urges her mind to stop reflecting on the past and instead concentrate on driving. At the shotgun, Annika has already fallen asleep, her hands holding her shawl tight, stray tendrils of her dark hair sticking to her face from the tears she's been shedding since yesterday.

What Emerynne wants to ask the face-your-demons crowd is how to do that when said demon keeps beating one down. One must face the floor and never meet the demon's eyes, for doing so will simply bring a fresh onslaught of beatings. Sometimes, facing one's demons is their worst bet. And because they can't let it maltreat them all the time, they must leave it behind and move on. Sometimes, running away is the sole viable option. Sometimes, running away isn't an act of cowardice, but one of courage – and, oh, the courage it takes to gather one's necessities and abscond a miserable life.

Oh, the courage it takes to decide to start a new life...