Our relationship was getting better and better, sometimes even too good to be true. Amelie and I were a perfectly coordinated team, a real dream team that understood each other without saying much. And the best part is: the children also contributed to this happiness. Anna and August saw me not only as their mother's new husband, but also as their friend, their playmate and occasionally even as their accomplice. Every time they called my name, I felt how much I belonged. You could almost think that life itself had decided: “These four just fit together.” Of course, I couldn't replace their biological father, but that wasn't my job either. I had gotten to know the father through Amelie's comments and remarks. But the longer I knew him, the more I felt that I had come to appreciate my opinion of him and his attitude. The children's father was an important person.
We had so many wonderful moments as a small family that made up for all the adversities of everyday life. These were the evenings when the four of us sat in the living room, with pizza boxes on the table and a children's movie that was louder than any explosion in an action movie. Anna usually sat on my lap and commented on every scene so vividly that you would think she had written the script. August was more of a quiet type, but when he laughed, it was like a small victory for the world. Amelie sat next to me, smiled and occasionally said, “You really spoiled them, André.” I just shrugged and said, “You can't spoil happy children enough.”
One day, something happened that made our little world even more colorful. It all started with a mysterious message from Amelie's sister: “Friday, 3 p.m., be ready. You have to drive the car.” That was all there was to start with. “What's going on on Friday?” Amelie asked. She just shrugged her shoulders and grinned. “Maybe they'll finally throw me out.” Her eyes sparkled with mischief, and I knew she was clueless.
On Friday at 3 p.m. sharp, I was standing in the garden and could hardly believe it when an old GDR construction container rolled into our lives. Eight meters long, with sealed aluminum walls and a certain patina that only a GDR structure could have. Friends, relatives and neighbors stood laughing (or left messages for Amelie) and patted me on the back. “That's what you get for needing space!” someone shouted. Amelie was speechless, while I just grinned.
The container belonged to a very good friend of Amelie's who actually wanted to sell it. Amelie had often mentioned how much she would like to have it, but it was simply too expensive. So I secretly contacted all of my friends and relatives and asked if they would support the purchase of the container. To my delight, everyone was enthusiastic about the idea – and so we were actually able to buy the container for Amelie.
Amelie crossed her arms, looked at the container and said dryly: “That's almost better than a yacht.” I replied with a laugh: “A container made of aluminum – someone will have to do better than that first.”
Ultimately, the container turned out to be the best gift Amelie and her children had ever received. They made it into a little retreat. A wood-burning stove was installed inside the container, and fairy lights were hung from the ceiling. The children immediately chose it as their “secret club”. Anna painted pictures on the walls with chalk, while August wanted to turn it into a “space base”. On cold winter days, the four of us would sit inside, drinking hot chocolate and telling each other stories until our eyes closed.
Amelie wasn't just successful, she was also quite famous. She simply had to go to a lot of events, for example to premieres, galas or award ceremonies. So I automatically became her “plus-one”, the silent companion at her side. I really liked this role. I wasn't expected to know about plays or new films and be able to hold intelligent conversations. My job was simple: look good, nod occasionally and watch as Amelie took people's hearts by storm.
Once we were at a really important awards ceremony, and Amelie was praised to the skies. “Her performance was a real highlight!” One critic was full of praise and spoke of a triumph of art. Amelie smiled and thanked him with a little speech. As we drove home later, she leaned over to me and said, “You know, André, I was still very good today even though you cooked yesterday – at least you tried to cook.” I had to laugh and said, “Yes, the pasta bake gives you ‘acting’ superpowers.”
That's how we lived. Sometimes between red carpets and playground sand, sometimes between champagne glasses and pizza boxes. It was a great mix of glamor and everyday life, and I enjoyed every second of it.
Of course, not everything always went smoothly. But our little disagreements were rare and often so silly that we could hardly take ourselves seriously. Once we discussed whether the construction container should be referred to as “additional living space” or as “mobile chaos”. Amelie said it would be too cold in there. I pointed to the wood-burning stove and said, “It hasn't killed us yet.” She wrapped herself in a blanket and said, “Then you'll probably be the first to freeze to death.” Less than five minutes later, we were sitting together laughing while Anna drew a picture of me as “king of the construction site trailer”.
We could argue, but we could also quickly make up again. Amelie once said that we were like ketchup and mayonnaise. We are different, but complement each other perfectly. I laughed and said, “Ketchup always wins.” She rolled her eyes and said, “Forget it.”
The time with Amelie and the children was the happiest phase of my life. There wasn't a day that I didn't laugh – whether it was at Anna's histrionics, August's clever questions or Amelie's little idiosyncrasies. Sometimes she also drove me crazy when she came up with new ideas (like wanting a trampoline in the living room), but she also amazed me time and again.
Whether we were at a big gala or the four of us were sitting in our construction trailer, it was perfect. The kids loved our little adventures, and Amelie and I had each other's backs. She was my artist, my whirlwind, and I was her André, the man who made everything a little calmer, but never boring.
In the end, I often think about how special that time was. A little crazy, a little chaotic, but above all full of love, laughter and unforgettable stories.