Dad, give me your flat youve already lived enough. After those words, his daughter slammed the door shut.
He lived alone. Since his wife left, loneliness wrapped around him like a heavy black veil. Everything seemed dull. Nothing brought him joy any longernot sunny days, not a strong morning tea, not the old movies that once delighted the whole family. Work was his only anchor in this world. As long as he had the strength, he kept going, because at home the silence was unbearable. That silence echoed in his ears and pierced his heart.
Days passed one after another, all the same, like photocopies: morning, bus, work, house, shadows on the walls, empty evenings. His son and daughter visited less and less, almost disappearing from his life. Their calls were brief, out of politeness, then they stopped answering. He roamed the streets for hours, scanning strangers faces, hoping to see something familiar. Age didnt frighten himdying alone did.
He felt an inner extinction. His soul ached, tightened. He thought of his wifehe would have liked to apologize, but he never dared to dial her number. He still loved her. He regretted the things he never said.
Then, one day, his daughter appeared at his door. He was as joyful as a child. He baked her favorite pastries, poured tea, pulled out old photo albumshe wanted to relive the good old times. But her visit wasnt for that.
Dad, she said, with a cold tone, youre living alone in a fourroom flat. Its not fair. Sell it. You can buy a studio for yourself and give me the rest of the money.
He could not believe his ears. He thought she was joking, that she would laugh. But there was no irony in her eyes.
I Im not selling anything. This is my home your childhood bedroom is here, this is where I lived with your mother
Youve already lived enough! she snapped. I need that money more than you do! Youre all alone, why do you need so much space?
When will you come back? he asked weakly, barely recognizing his own voice.
She looked at him indifferently, slipped on her shoes and said,
At your funeral.
The door slammed. He froze, then collapsed onto the floor. A hammerlike pain struck his chest. He lay there for three days, without food, without strength, without hope. Then he called his son.
Michel, come I dont feel well, he begged.
His son listened. A silence followed. Then he said,
Dad, no offense, but that huge apartment isnt really necessary for you. I want to buy a car; you could help me Ill come if you decide to sell the flat.
Silence returned, the kind that rattles in the ears and leaves a void in the soul. He hung up, realizing he no longer had childrenonly strangers who shared his blood.
The next day, he entered a pharmacy and by chance met his exwifes brother. The man, surprised, greeted him.
Anne? he asked. How is she?
Shes gone to Italy, the man replied shortly. She married an Italian. Shes found her happiness.
Shes found her happiness The words burned him. He wasnt against her joy; he was against his own emptiness.
The following morning he woke with a weight in his chest. A low, dark sky pressed down outside. He threw on his coat and stepped out. He walked a few blocks, found an old bench in a courtyard, sat down, closed his eyes. His heart delivered its final, painful blow.
His soul, exhausted by pain, indifference, and silence, finally rosetoward a place where no one betrays, where no one demands the last thing, where perhaps someone might say again, Dad, I missed you
But that place was no longer here.
