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<\/span><\/a><\/p>\nThe young man was released early in the morning. Documents, a bag with his belongings, the quiet street \u2014 he needed nothing more. He immediately called a taxi and gave the only destination he cared about: the cemetery where his fianc\u00e9e had been buried.<\/p>\n
When the car arrived, he stood at the gate for a long time, as if he didn\u2019t dare to go in. Everything inside him tightened. He had never been here \u2014 he had been arrested while her funeral was taking place. He hadn\u2019t even seen where exactly she was buried. He had spent almost five years in prison.<\/p>\n
The cemetery was enormous. Rows of tombstones stretched endlessly. He wandered among them for nearly half an hour, scanning each name. The name he needed was nowhere to be found. Only strangers\u2019 surnames, strangers\u2019 dates, strangers\u2019 stories.<\/p>\n
He pulled a crumpled paper from his pocket: the grave location, the section, the row. But everything was written so crookedly, as if scribbled in a hurry.<\/p>\n
He walked along the indicated row \u2014 nothing. Again \u2014 still nothing.<\/p>\n
Finally, he noticed a groundskeeper, an elderly man in a jacket and rubber boots.<\/p>\n
\u201cExcuse me\u2026\u201d \u2014 his voice cracked. \u201cI\u2019m looking for a grave. Here\u2019s the surname. And here\u2019s the document. Can you help me?\u201d<\/p>\n
The groundskeeper took the paper, squinted for a long time, then nodded:<\/p>\n
\u201cOh\u2026 yes, I remember. We buried that girl. Rare name. Come.\u201d<\/p>\n
He led him to another section, not the one written on the paper. The groundskeeper waved his hand:<\/p>\n
\u201cHere. She\u2019s here.\u201d<\/p>\n