I had very few memories of the moments following the devastating impact. The horrible screech of metal twisting and breaking, the distant wail of ambulance sirens, the warm blood staining my trembling hands, the white bone protruding obscenely from the torn flesh of my left leg.
And then, the worst: Alessia's body lying on the asphalt… a trickle of blood seeping from behind her head, her eyes, once so full of life, now staring into the infinite void behind me… Then came the heart-wrenching sobs and desperate screams that seemed to come from somewhere outside myself.
Finally, the profound silence… that deafening silence that followed the storm. It was that fateful day… On that lonely rural road, when Alessia and our unborn child… left this world forever. Violet would never be born, never know the sunlight or the sound of my voice.
A week later, I was discharged from the hospital. I had a concussion, both legs fractured, and multiple internal injuries that would take months to heal, if they ever fully did. The hospital staff, with solemn faces and compassionate looks, handed me a small transparent plastic bag with Alessia's belongings.
Her worn leather purse, a pack of mint gum —her favorite—, the car keys with the star-shaped keychain I gave her on our first anniversary… And a small red package, carefully wrapped. Inside the wrapping was only a photograph. It was a clear ultrasound image where the delicate features of a small baby were distinctly visible; there was a silver inscription in the bottom corner.
Apparently, Alessia had decided to find out the baby's gender and planned to tell me during dinner at the restaurant. Violet… She had my same upturned nose.
A considerable crowd gathered at the church for the funeral; dozens of people hugged me and expressed their condolences with words that slid over me without penetrating my consciousness. Alessia's mother, her eyes red and brimming with tears, sat as if petrified in the front row. She gave me a look filled with pain and a veiled resentment I understood perfectly.
I no longer felt any emotion. My soul seemed to have departed with them. I learned, as if hearing news about a stranger, that the person responsible for Alessia's death had survived the accident with minor injuries. After multiple arrests for drunk driving, his license had been revoked months earlier. According to local newspapers, the 45-year-old man would serve a few years in prison. A few years in jail for brutally taking the lives of Alessia and our unborn daughter.
…It was terribly unfair. A cruel mockery of fate.
Returning home after the funeral was unbearably lonely. The oppressive silence reigning in every room was like a living entity slowly suffocating me. I saw Alessia appear in every corner, as if for a fleeting moment, perhaps for a miserable second, I could fool myself into believing it had all been a nightmare and that she would return. She was everywhere: in the elusive reflection of a mirror, in the subtle creak of the wooden floor, in the moving shadow of a door pushed by the invisible draft of the wind.
In her perfume, faint but still present in the marital bed that now seemed immense, floating in the air like a final farewell concert. During the endless nights, I stared at my old revolver in an almost mystical silence. A gleaming Colt that had belonged to my grandfather and that he left me as his only tangible inheritance.
As I gazed at the cold metal glinting sinisterly under the dancing lights of the crackling fire in the fireplace, the bitterness and sadness gradually transformed into a visceral hatred, and the hatred into a silent madness that consumed me. A burning desire for vengeance, glowing like incandescent embers, devoured me from the inside down to my bones.
***
Well, it had been a while since I was last here. I entered the flower shop with slow, cautious steps, breathing deeply the sweet, fresh scent that filled the establishment. A young employee, about twenty years old, greeted me with a kind smile that painfully contrasted with the darkness dwelling within me.
—How are you? —I asked, forcing a smile that I intended to be natural. I felt a slight tremor at the corners of my lips as I strained to perform the gesture I had forgotten how to execute naturally.
—I'm perfectly fine —she replied with a genuine smile that momentarily lit up the shop—. People don't usually look for flowers when their emotions are wilted, you know? By the way, what's been going on with you lately? It's been a while since we last saw you here.
I felt a sharp pang in my chest at her innocent question. I swallowed hard, trying to loosen the painful knot forming in my dry throat.
—It's the same —I replied in a dull voice—. My emotions have been dry these days.
—¡Wow! And what's got you so excited today to buy such a large amount of flowers? —The employee looked at me with evident curiosity in her clear eyes.
Her question momentarily threw me off. I lowered my gaze to the large bouquet I held in my hands, as if seeing it for the first time since entering the shop. Why did I buy so many? The answer lingered in some corner of my mind, but I stubbornly refused to acknowledge it consciously.
—Shouldn't I buy them? —I replied with a deliberately neutral tone, hiding the emotional turmoil raging inside me.
—Would you like to include gypsophila again this time? —the employee asked in a professional tone, pointing to the delicate white flowers resting in a nearby vase.
—Yes, please —I replied automatically, like an automaton programmed to perform certain basic functions.
As the young woman meticulously prepared the bouquet, my mind wandered down tortuous paths of the past. I vividly recalled the first time I bought gypsophila. It was for Alessia, on our first wedding anniversary. Her blue eyes sparkled intensely as she gazed at the tiny white flowers, like little stars in the night sky.
—They're perfect —she whispered with restrained emotion, kissing me softly on the lips.
I shook my head violently, desperately trying to push away the painful memory haunting me. It was too painful to relive those moments of happiness that would never return. I paid for the flowers and left the shop in a hurry.