The day I buried my mother, I ended up in the river. Even now, I don’t know if I slipped… or if someone pushed me. But when I managed to crawl out, I overheard my husband and my best friend talking — and what they said changed everything.
That whole day felt unreal. People came and went, offering condolences, hugging me, speaking softly, but it all sounded distant, like I wasn’t fully there. By evening the house felt suffocating, so I went outside to get some air and walked down to the river near our home.
It had rained earlier, and the ground by the bank was wet. I stood close to the edge, staring at the dark water — and suddenly the ground gave way beneath me.
Before I could even react, I was in the river.
The current was strong, my clothes got heavy, and for a moment I thought I wouldn’t make it out. Somehow, out of pure instinct, I forced myself to swim toward the reeds along the shore. I grabbed onto them and pulled myself onto the muddy bank, gasping for breath.
That’s when I heard voices above me.
I looked up through the reeds — and froze.
It was my husband and my best friend standing at the edge of the bank, looking down at the water.







