Danya

We met in a small cafe across from my house. He just sat down at my table and started a conversation - easily, casually, as if we were old acquaintances. We exchanged numbers, then began walks, endless conversations until dawn, coffee in the mornings and notes on the mirror. It was all too beautiful to be true. And yet, we got married.
He was the perfect husband. I fell asleep on his shoulder with his gentle kisses and warm breath. Love seemed eternal.

But one day he didn't come home.

After work - no call, no message. The phone was silent. I waited, an hour, two... then went to the police. The last time he was seen was near that same cafe. The rain washed away the tracks, the cameras showed nothing. It was as if he had disappeared.

Five years have passed. The first years were hell. Tears, sleepless nights, nightmares. I was treated, tried to live. Then I moved, changed jobs. It seemed to get easier.

And so, it was a normal evening, a restaurant in the center, I came with a colleague. We ordered food. Suddenly, a voice was heard behind me:

• Sorry, but this table was reserved...

I turned around slowly.

It was him. Dania. My husband. Missing. Alive.

I froze. He also looked at me, not believing his eyes. Tears streamed down my cheeks. He came up to me and hugged me tightly. "I missed you, I missed you so much."