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<\/span><\/a><\/p>\nHeavy rain was pouring when Alex stopped his black Mercedes at the gates of the cemetery. Exactly six months had passed since the day his life had ended together with the life of his son.<\/p>\n
Six months earlier, a school bus had been involved in a terrible accident: it collided with a truck and burst into flames. None of the children survived. The parents were given only what could be found after the fire, and a coffin far too small, bearing his son\u2019s name, was lowered into the ground.<\/p>\n
Alex stepped out of the car, clutching a bouquet of red roses in his hands. His expensive shoes immediately sank into the mud, but he didn\u2019t even notice. From that day on, he no longer cared how he looked or where he stepped. The only thing he did, week after week, was come here and stand by the grave, trying not to break completely.<\/p>\n
He walked slowly along the path, as if dragging out the moment. Every step was an effort, his chest burned, and memories of the funeral kept resurfacing in his mind.<\/p>\n
Suddenly, he noticed someone standing by the headstone. A thin boy in wet, torn clothes, leaning on a makeshift wooden crutch. His back was hunched, and his shoulders were trembling from the cold and the rain.<\/p>\n
The boy slowly turned around and quietly spoke words that took Alex\u2019s breath away. \u201cDad\u2026 it\u2019s me. I\u2019m alive.\u201d<\/p>\n
Alex froze in shock. The roses slipped from his hands and fell straight into the mud. That voice, that tone, were far too familiar, yet this was a completely different boy, nothing like his deceased son.<\/p>\n
He took a step back and almost shouted, unable to believe that something like this could even be possible.<\/p>\n