Sometimes just a few words are enough to shatter an entire equilibrium. A simple message, received in haste, can awaken questions we thought were long buried.
The Sunday ritual, that invisible thread that connected us.
At our house, Sundays had a very particular scent: that of simmering dishes, lingering coffee, and conversations that stretched on. Since our father’s passing, these meals had become sacred to Mom. A gentle and discreet way to maintain his presence, to keep that family bond alive at all costs.

So when that dreaded text arrived—”Please don’t come today”—I immediately sensed something was wrong. No explanation, no reassuring words. Just this unusual, almost cold request. My brother and I didn’t even need to discuss it: we just got in the car.

An arrival that shakes our certainties.

The house was lit, but silent. As I entered, I felt this strange tension, as if the air were heavier. And then, in the kitchen, there was this man. Sitting at the table. His back to me. A figure that resembled our father too closely to be insignificant.

My heart raced. My brother froze. And Mom, pale, simply murmured a phrase that spoke volumes: “Why didn’t you listen to me?”

When the past resurfaces unexpectedly