I had very few memories of the moments following the impact. The horrifying noise of metal breaking, the sound of ambulance sirens, blood on my hands, the bone protruding from the torn flesh of my left leg.

Alessia's body lying on the ground... with blood coming out behind her head and her face, as if staring blankly behind me... Then, the crying and screaming.

Finally, the deep silence... It was that day... On that isolated country road, when Alessia and our unborn child... died. Violet would never be born.

A week later, they discharged me from the general hospital. Concussion, double leg fracture, and multiple injuries. Hospital staff handed me a small plastic bag with Alessia's personal belongings.

Her purse, a pack of mint gum, her car keys... And a small red gift. Inside the package was only a photograph. It was an ultrasound image. The features of a small baby were clearly distinguishable, there was a silver-toned inscription on the photo.

Alessia, apparently, had decided to find out the baby's sex and intended to tell me at the restaurant. Violet... She had my same nose.

A large crowd was gathered in the church, dozens of people hugged me and offered their condolences. Alessia's mother, with tears in her eyes, seemed paralyzed. She was giving me looks mixed with pain and resentment.

I no longer felt anything. I learned that the person responsible for Alessia's death was alive. After having been arrested several times for driving under the influence of alcohol, his driver's license had been revoked. According to local newspapers, the 45-year-old man should spend some years behind bars. Some years in prison for having taken Alessia's and our daughter's lives.

...It was unfair.

The return home after the funeral was atrociously lonely. The oppressive silence of the house was unbearable. I saw Alessia appearing in every corner, as if for a brief moment, for a second perhaps, I would forget that she would not return. She was everywhere, in the reflection of a mirror, in the creaking of the floor, in the moving shadow of a door pushed by the wind.

In her perfume, evanescent but still present on the marital bed, wandering in the air like a final concert. At night, I observed my old revolver in an almost mystical silence. A Colt that had belonged to my grandfather and which he left me as an inheritance.

While contemplating the cold metal gleaming in the dancing lights of the fire crackling in the fireplace, bitterness and sadness gradually transformed into hatred, and hatred into madness. A burning desire for revenge, which burned like embers, devoured my entrails.

***

—How are you?— I asked, sketching a soft smile. I felt the corners of my lips trembling slightly while forcing the gesture.

—I'm doing well— she responded enthusiastically—. People don't look for flowers because their emotions are dry. By the way, what happened to you these days? We haven't seen you around here for a long time.

—I felt a pang in my chest at her innocent question. I swallowed, trying to undo the knot forming in my throat—. It's the same— I responded with a broken voice—. My emotions have been dry these days.

—The employee looked at me with curiosity—. Uff! So, what excited you so much today that you bought all these flowers?

—Her question caught me by surprise. I looked at the enormous bouquet I hold in my hands, as if seeing it for the first time. Why did I buy so many? The answer floats in my mind, but I refused to acknowledge it—. Shouldn't I buy them?— I replied with a neutral voice.

—Would you like to receive gypsophila this time too?— asked the employee, pointing at the delicate white flowers.

—Yes— I responded automatically. While she prepared the bouquet, my mind wandered. I remembered the first time I bought gypsophila. It was for Alessia, on our first anniversary. Her eyes sparkled when she saw the small flowers, like stars in a night sky—. They're perfect— she had whispered, softly kissing me.

I shook my head, trying to push away the memory. It hurts too much to think about those happy moments. I pay for the flowers and left the store, the weight of the bouquet in my arms a constant reminder of what I've lost.

My feet automatically took me to the nearby supermarket. It was quite full, probably because it was dinner time. I headed to the meat counter, trying to ignore the curious looks from some customers seeing my enormous flower bouquet.

—Please, give me 150 grams of seaweed soup— I asked the butcher.

—He nodded and started weighing the meat. While doing so, he looked at me with a sly smile—. Yes! 150 grams of seaweed soup. Whose birthday is it? You even brought flowers.

—His question hit me like a punch in the stomach. I paused, feeling pain spreading through my chest. I forced a smile, although I knew it must look more like a grimace—. Yes— I responded with a hoarse voice—. My beautiful wife has her birthday today.

—Hey! I'm jealous that your wife is beautiful— the butcher joked—. Alright, here's the meat.

—Thank you— I muttered, taking the package. I quickly left the supermarket, unable to bear more looks and questions. On the way home, I passed by a stuffed animal store and bought a teddy bear. Alessia always wanted to have one for our daughter...

Arriving home, I opened the main door and entered. The living room was dark, all lights off. —I'm back— I announced loudly, more out of habit than expecting an answer. The silence that received me was deafening.