A few days ago, the village was gripped by anxiety. A group of young soldiers, including Anna’s son Alex, went on a reconnaissance mission into the forest but never returned. One officer claimed to have seen the boys enter the thicket, but then the forest seemed to swallow them up. Search parties combed the area day after day, but without success.
On the third day, the military officially declared the soldiers missing, and two days later — dead. The parents were given documents. Anna was handed a folded triangular flag and told that her son was not found, but under the circumstances, no one could have survived.
The next day, a funeral was held in the village. A small procession, the mournful tolling of bells, an empty coffin draped with the flag. Anna stood before the grave, clutching the handkerchief as if it were the last piece of her boy. She could hardly believe it, but hope was nearly gone.
She tried to come to terms with this reality.
Then, two days later, when it was dark outside and silence hung in the house, her phone suddenly rang. The number was unknown. Her heart skipped a beat — usually such calls bring bad news.
“Hello?” she whispered, barely breathing.
A hoarse voice answered on the other end:
“Anna?”
“Yes, it’s me…”
“This is your son, he wants to speak with you? Hello? Ma’am? Are you alright?”
Anna couldn’t believe it. She jumped up, pressing the phone harder against her ear.
“Yes, yes, I’m here.”
“Mom?”
“Alex?! Is that you? Alive?!”
“Yes, Mom, I’m alive. We were injured, we hid in a ravine. No signal. Only today did we manage to find a radio… I… I wanted so badly to call you…”
Tears of relief streamed down her cheeks. She sobbed, clutching her hand to her chest.
“Thank God… Thank God, son… I had already buried you…”
“I know. They told me. But I’ll be home soon, Mom. I’m alive. Forgive me.”
And in that moment, even the night outside seemed brighter.
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