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I spent three years in excruciating grief mourning my wife, who died in a tragic accident – yesterday I saw her alive next to my worst enemy.
Yesterday, in a café at an Italian seaside resort, I heard my dead wife’s laughter before I even saw her face. Sarah was alive, sunglasses on, holding the hand of my worst enemy. I had spent three years teaching our daughter to kiss a blank photograph before bed. Then Sarah looked at the diaper bag and stopped smiling.
The laughter was coming from the cafe even before I reached the door.
I hadn’t heard it for three years, except in inappropriate places.
I hadn’t heard from him in three years.
At 4 a.m., while rocking our daughter.
In the grocery aisle, a stranger leaned over the tomatoes.
Once, at the cemetery, while a woman behind me was answering her phone, she was laughing exactly the way Sarah used to laugh.
Yesterday, the noise came from a table located under a striped awning in Portofino, Italy.
The noise was coming from a table located under a striped awning.
I stopped near the pastry display case, a small wrapped box in my hand. Inside was a wooden musical toy for Lily’s third birthday.
Lily was back at the hotel with her nanny, who was supposed to be teaching Italian to her stuffed rabbit.
I was out for 15 minutes.
That’s how long it took for my deceased wife to come back.
I was out for 15 minutes.
Sarah was sitting by the window, wearing a cream linen dress and black sunglasses.
Her hair was shorter.
A burn scar marked his left cheek. One hand rested on the table, next to an unopened espresso.
The other hand was inside Marcus’s.
My worst enemy.
A burn scar marked the left side of his cheek.
While I was still ordering flowers for an empty grave, he was working to dismantle my business, going so far as to tell investors that I had become « emotionally unstable » just two weeks after Sarah’s funeral.
With a single calculated sweep, Marcus took away my clients, my trust, and what remained of my fragile pride, which grief had not yet destroyed.
Marcus saw me first.
Her face hasn’t changed as I had expected.
Marcus saw me first.
No sufficiency.
No fear.
A brief and controlled silence.
Sarah followed his gaze.
She lowered her sunglasses.
For a second, I saw her transform into a ghost who could see me.
Sarah followed his gaze.
Then her eyes lowered.
Not opposite.
Not the box I have in my hand.
From the diaper bag I was carrying on my shoulder, from which Lily’s little knitted yellow duck was sticking out, pulled from the side pocket.
Sarah raised her fingers in his direction.
Barely.
Then he stopped.
Then her eyes lowered.
« Sarah, » I whispered. « Is that you? »
Her lips parted slightly.
She looked at the duck again.
« Please, » she murmured. « Not here. »
« Sarah, is that you? »
A feeling colder than anger took hold of me.
“Then tell me where.”
Marcus stood up first.
I watched his hand leave hers.
« Don’t you dare speak! » I roared.
He nodded once.
It made me hate him even more.
I watched his hand leave hers.
Sarah stood up and grabbed the edge of the table. Marcus moved aside as if to help her, then stopped when I looked at him.
She noticed it.
The upstairs terrace of the cafe was closed for the afternoon.
Marcus spoke briefly to the owner. The money didn’t visibly change anything, but the terrace doors opened.
She noticed it.
***
We climbed the stairs in silence.
Sarah walked slowly.
I noticed that she dragged her left foot when she was tired.
I didn’t want to notice it.
Above, the sea stretched beyond the railing, so bright it seemed cruel.
Sarah was sitting.
Marcus remained standing.
I didn’t sit down at all.
I didn’t want to notice it.
« Where is she? » asked Sarah.
The question came before the apology.
« Where is my daughter, Harry? »
I had mourned for three years for a woman I thought was gone. This simple question did not erase that grief.
I had been in mourning for three years.
« At the hotel, » I said. « With her nanny. »
Sarah pressed her fingers flat on the table.
« Is she alright? »
“She is three years old.”
« Is she happy? »
« She asks why her mother lives in photographs. »
Sarah lowered her eyes.
Marcus turned towards the water.
« She asks why her mother lives in photographs. »
For a moment, we no longer belonged to the same world.
I then placed the wrapped toy on the table.
“Start talking.”
Sarah looked at Marcus.
« Not him, » I said. « You. »
« I remember the rain, » she began. « The road. The tires skidding. I remember the water coming in through the window. »
« I remember the rain. »
I was familiar with that part.
I had lived in that neighborhood for three years.
The police showed me photos of the wreck. A town in Italy. We were on vacation there. Sarah had driven there that evening to visit a friend. That’s what she told me.
The railing was torn off. Her purse was found against a rock. Only one shoe. There was enough blood in the car for the detective to lose hope.
Sarah had gone out in her car that evening to visit a friend.
But no body.
This was the part around which I had built my prayers, until they became useless.
« I woke up in the hospital, » Sarah said. « I didn’t know who I was. »
« I couldn’t speak properly. I couldn’t remember names. I didn’t remember Lily. » She stared at me. « I didn’t remember you. »
« I didn’t know who I was. »
She brought her hand to her cheek.
The burn scar.
I kept an eye on him.
« Practical, » I murmured.
« That’s the impression it gives. »
I kept an eye on him.
She continued talking.
« The hospital was able to track down Marcus through the company’s archives. His name appeared on documents relating to the expansion into Italy. »
« He came by plane. »
« Yes. »
“He found you alive.”
« Yes. »
« And I buried an empty coffin. »
Her hands clasped.
« I didn’t know that at the time. »
“He found you alive.”
« When did you find out? »
She didn’t respond quickly enough.
The sea flowed beneath our feet, constantly crashing against the stones.
« When did you find out, Sarah? »
“Months later.”
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