My husband told me,
“Just try to finish this month, and then my whole family will move to my hometown to live near my parents, and I won’t have to go abroad so much.”
When I listened to him, my heart was comforted, and for several nights I kept dreaming of family gatherings. However… For three days, I couldn’t call him, and I didn’t get any answers. I consoled myself that maybe he was busy working the night shift, that maybe he forgot to charge his phone.
This morning, I was taking my son to school, when the phone suddenly rang. On the other end of the line, a trembling voice announced the news of a lightning strike:
“Sister… Go under the bridge immediately, he… Something happened!”
My heart felt like it was bursting, my legs were shaking. I hurriedly sent my son to the neighbors, driving like crazy. When I arrived, the scene in front of me made me collapse:
He was lying there, right under the cold bridge, surrounded by police, and the villagers stood and talked. The worker’s shirt was stained, and his face was pale as if he had experienced his last moments of despair.
Someone whispered behind him:
“Three days ago, someone saw him wandering around here every night… It was as if he was waiting for someone.”
I cried and hurriedly called my husband’s name, but it was too late. The promise to return to his hometown to live together was left only in his memory…