Among the shards of clay and the dry roots, a small plastic bag, well wrapped in foil, emerged. I froze. I looked at it without breathing. It seemed… placed there intentionally.
I carefully bent down, forgetting for a moment about the cactus thorns that had pierced my hand. I gently unwrapped the foil and found inside a yellow envelope, taped shut. On it, written with a pen: “In case I don’t come back.”
I sat on the floor, my hands trembling. I opened it.
Inside were two things: a letter and an old photograph. In the photograph, John was with a blonde woman, holding a child by the hand. They were in a winter landscape, perhaps in a mountain village. Behind them, a sign: “Rucăr – Bran, 2 km.”
I read the letter. Each line sent shivers down my spine. It was written three years ago, just when “the General” had appeared in the house.
“If you are reading this, it means that either I came back and didn’t have the courage to tell you, or I never came back at all. The woman in the picture is Loredana. We met before I married you. I didn’t know what to choose. I only recently recognized the child. I secretly did a DNA test. He is mine. I’m sorry. I leave you the cactus as a buried secret, and if you ever need to find out, then maybe… you will forgive me.”
I stared blankly. Questions buzzed in my head: how old is the child? Why did he never tell me? Why the cactus?! Maybe because he knew I would never touch it.
The next day, I took the photo, the letter, and got in my car. I drove to Rucăr. I didn’t inform anyone. I asked the locals, knocked on doors, until I found her.
Loredana opened the gate when she saw me. She said nothing. She took the child out of the car. It was a boy. He had John’s eyes.
“Does he know who his father is?” I asked.
“He knows. But he always wanted a sister. Do you have children?”
I looked at her. The tears no longer came. Just an emptiness in my stomach and a weight in my chest.
“No, I only had… cacti.”
And at that moment I understood: sometimes, the most dangerous thorns are not the ones that pierce the skin — but the ones that pierce trust.
But, as an old saying goes, “the truth, no matter how much you hide it under clay and needles, will always come to light when it’s time to water the earth.”
This work is inspired by real events and people, but has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher do not assume responsibility for the accuracy of events or for how characters are portrayed and are not liable for any misinterpretations. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed belong to the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
