I woke suddenly, gasping for breath, my face wet with tears I hadn't even felt falling. My chest was heavy, as if someone had pressed a stone deep inside me. The warmth of my dream, of my father's presence, shattered into fragments the moment I opened my eyes.
And reality—merciless, unyielding—struck me.
My father was dead.
The words were too sharp, too cruel to belong to my life, yet they kept echoing. He had been taken by an accident, torn from us in the middle of the night. No warning. No chance to say goodbye.
I still see it—our door opening, my mother's face pale in the candlelight, and one of my father's co-workers standing there, his voice breaking as he forced out the words: "Your father… he was run over. He didn't survive."
At first, I couldn't move. My body froze, my mind refused. But then I heard my mother cry out, a sound so raw it tore something inside me. It was then that I knew—this was not a nightmare. This was real.
We left immediately, desperate, reckless. My body moved without thought, driven only by panic. I climbed onto the horse, clutching the reins so tightly my knuckles turned white. The night swallowed us whole as we rode.
The wind was brutal, colder than I had ever felt. It stung my skin, numbed my fingers until they shook uncontrollably. Each gust slammed against my chest like a cruel hand, making it harder to breathe. It felt as though the world itself was punishing me, pressing its grief against mine. Still, I pushed the horse faster. Faster. My heart begged for a lie, for a miracle waiting at the end of the road.
But when I arrived, hope died.
There he was. My father.
Lying on the ground. Still. Silent. Lifeless.
The air around me disappeared. My legs trembled so violently I could barely stand. I wanted to run to him, to shake him awake, to demand he breathe again—but my body betrayed me. I stood frozen, choking on the sight.
"No…" The word barely escaped my lips. "No… not him."
It felt impossible. My father—my protector, my shield, my silent strength—could not be gone. He was the man who rose before the sun, who endured pain so we wouldn't have to, who bore every burden with humility. How could the world dare to take him?
I wanted to scream until my voice broke, to cry until the earth itself wept with me. But nothing came. My throat was locked, my chest crushed under the weight of disbelief. I was drowning in grief, yet unable to release it.
The silence was unbearable. His silence was unbearable.
I stared at his face, still and pale, and it felt like the ground beneath me had collapsed. The man who once stood like stone, unshakable, was now gone—stolen by the darkness of the night.
I couldn't breathe. I couldn't move. My tears fell, but they weren't enough. Nothing was enough.
The cold wind wrapped around me again, but this time it wasn't just cold—it was empty. It carried no protection, no comfort, no warmth. For the first time in my life, I felt completely unprotected.
And as I stood there, trembling in the night, all I could do was whisper a broken truth to the lifeless body before me:
"I can't lose you… but I already have."