A committed Christian, he never missed a Mass. Always at the front of the choir, his voice calm, his gaze turned toward heaven. He knew the Bible by heart, better than any priest, and spent evenings teaching it to our children as if he were bequeathing them a sacred treasure. He often spoke of values. Of exemplarity. Of divine love. He repeated to me: “We must be pillars for them. Reference points. Role models.”
So when he told me he was going away for a weekend with some men from the church to…
But the next day, everything changed.
A simple detail. A trivial setback…
Our son’s bike tire got a flat. I wanted to get the pump, which was always lying around in the garage. I never go in there. It’s not my area of expertise. But that day, I went.
And then, as I opened the door… a shiver ran through me.
His tent. His boots. His headlamp. His sleeping bag. Everything was there. Perfectly stored. Covered with a white sheet. Untouched.
I stood there for a few seconds staring at this scene. A strange emptiness in my stomach…
