Post rem

Like a drenched cat he stands in front of the hospital room door. On the floor a small puddle forms from the rain sliding off him. He cannot remember the last time it stormed this badly.

He holds his breath for a moment as if that could postpone what no longer can be postponed. He clenches his left hand so tightly that he feels nothing but pain. Anything to avoid the confrontation. But turning around and walking away is no longer possible.

He straightens his back and tries to make himself appear broader: ready for what’s coming. A shiver runs through his body.

As soon as he steps into the room, a thick mist of unspoken emotions descends upon him. Six pairs of eyes look at him. He knows every face by heart, yet the overwhelming powerlessness weighing on them like a heavy blanket makes him feel small.

He raises an awkward hand in greeting. An intimate embrace from the people dearest to him would feel like betraying them even more.

He tries not to look at the fourth person in the room: her fragile, defenseless body on the bed. Her eyes are closed. Closed forever.

Eyes that no longer see.

No longer laugh.

No longer look with wonder.

No longer look straight through him.

He lets his shoulders drop and hesitates. He forces himself toward the bed and strokes her cold face.

He sits down on a plastic chair beside the bed. His father-in-law grabs both his hands. The grip is so firm, as if an answer to all his questions might emerge from it. A tear slides down the old man’s face; he quickly wipes it away.

“Did you have any contact before—”

The old man’s voice is so low and soft that his pain is almost audible. A voice that doesn’t finish the sentence, as if leaving it incomplete could undo the inevitable.

He feels the blood rush to his face, crosses one leg over the other, and avoids his father-in-law’s eyes. His voice falters, as though he’s trying to swallow the lie.

In his mind he hears the soft sloshing — as if something inside him is drowning.

“She texted to ask if I arrived safely.” His mouth tastes like salt, as though something in him keeps being pushed underwater.

He feels his phone glowing in his pocket. As if it wants to burn its way out and scream: “I carry the betrayal. I guard his secret!”

His son lies sobbing violently with his head on her silent chest.

“Dad,” he cries in despair. The sound cuts through bone. For a moment the others forget their own grief and focus fully on the boy who lost his mother. He looks at his father with questioning eyes, but his trembling hands betray that he doesn’t want the answer.

“Why! Why isn’t Mom here anymore? Why is she dead? What are we supposed to do now? We can’t live without her.” His frown darkens; he only wants to run away. Back to a world where his mother still lives.

The father tries to hold back his tears. He kneels, eye-to-eye with his inconsolable son. For a moment he closes his eyes, hoping the nightmare will stop. In moments like this there are no right answers. He looks at his son. “I don’t have all the answers either. Mom had a terrible car accident. Sweetheart, I promise I will always be here for you. Always. Through thick and thin. And Mom will stay with us too — in our hearts, in our memories.”

He tries to calm his son, but the boy pushes him away in distrust. “How can you promise that? Mom always said she’d always be there, and she isn’t. It can happen to you too. Then I’ll have no one left.”

He looks at his in-laws with raised eyebrows, hoping for support.

The elderly woman stares out the window overlooking the park. The pouring rain lashes against the glass and gusts of wind tear branches from trees as if they were matchsticks. Just like her daughter was torn from her. She quickly pulls herself together.

“Why don’t you two go get something to drink in the restaurant downstairs?” Her voice is satin-soft. In crises she has always been the rock. Almost relieved, he takes his son’s hand and leaves the room.

At a table in the restaurant they drink hot chocolate. Words fall short. He thinks of his deceased wife, shifts restlessly in his chair, and picks at his nails.

He had tried several times to talk to her. To say his love was no longer enough. That he felt trapped. That he was seeing someone else. Each time she covered her ears, waited until he finished speaking, then carried on with her day. As if nothing had been said. As if there were no problems. She was the sweetest woman, wife, mother, daughter imaginable. But she did not allow confrontation. What you don’t hear or see does not exist.

Still, it had been tactless to put the divorce papers on the table before leaving for a business trip. But he had reached his breaking point. It was destroying him. He could not stay with her and had to break the pattern. His stomach knots at the memory.

Upon arriving in Rio he saw one message: “I would rather die than be abandoned by you.” He called her immediately, panicked. The first time she answered. She said little. He could hear her silence breathing — not sad, but knowing, and it made him nervous. She ended the call with one word: “betrayal.” Then: silence. He called everyone she knew. No one had heard from her. He took the next flight back. But he was too late.

“Dad,” his son interrupts. “Are you coming? I want to go back to Mom.” Hand in hand they walk back to the room. The pathologist is about to begin.

“The autopsy shows that the victim died by drowning, caused by an accidental traffic incident. I understand this is not the moment for details. If you have questions later, you can always reach me. My condolences.”

The room sinks into hopeless silence. Until his mother-in-law speaks — her voice still satin, though she has aged ten years in a single day.

“What I can’t get out of my mind is why there were no brake marks. When you lose control of your car, you try to brake, don’t you?”

He winces and swallows with difficulty. Could she know more? What exactly had her daughter told her?

And he hears again that soft sloshing — as if something in him keeps drowning.

His breath quickens, his eyelid twitches. Was it an accident? Or the consequence of her final message?

He gasps for air. He can’t undo anything anymore.

Silence fills the room, breathless, as if even the air understands that no one will ever truly know what happened.