I still vividly remember the night when "That" happened…

It was a lonely, cold night.

The chill in the air had a biting edge, the kind that nips at exposed skin, yet the cold was oddly refreshing. I found solace in the quiet, crisp night, wrapped in the soft, silvery glow of the moon. The park was my sanctuary, a place where the world seemed to slow down, leaving only the gentle rustling of leaves and the distant hoot of an owl.

As I sat on the swing, gently swaying back and forth, my gaze fixed on the star-studded sky above, I tried to shake off the lingering anger and frustration from earlier. The peaceful surroundings contrasted sharply with the heated argument I had fled from, the harsh words exchanged with my mother still echoing in my mind. The argument had been intense, more so than usual, and I needed space—somewhere to clear my head and escape the suffocating tension at home.

Lost in the tranquility, I felt a deep sense of peace, as if the world had paused just for a moment, allowing me to breathe and simply exist. It was in this peaceful solitude that I could escape the chaos of everyday life, even if just for a little while.

Then, suddenly, the night was shattered by a deafening crash, a sound so loud it seemed to vibrate through the ground. The peaceful bubble around me burst, replaced by a surge of adrenaline and a jolt of fear.

I jumped off the swing, my heart racing, and sprinted toward the source of the noise. The stillness was now broken by panicked shouts and the sight of smoke billowing up from the distance.

As I got closer, dread tightened its grip on me. I rounded a corner and was met with a devastating scene: a large truck had crashed into a building, leaving a gaping hole in its wake. Debris was scattered everywhere, and amidst the chaos, a woman lay sprawled on the cold asphalt, her legs horribly mangled.

The sight sent a shiver down my spine, and for a moment, all I wanted was to turn and flee from the horror before me. But something pulled me forward, a morbid curiosity or perhaps a desperate need to help.

I approached cautiously, my steps heavy and hesitant. The woman's body jerked slightly, a weak, almost imperceptible movement that signaled she was still alive. My breath hitched, torn between rushing to her aid and being overwhelmed by fear.

With each step, the air seemed to grow thicker, my chest tightening as if the weight of the world rested on my shoulders. Finally, I stood beside her, looking down at her pale, bloodied face. Recognition hit me like a tidal wave, and the ground seemed to sway beneath my feet.

The face staring back at me, though marred by blood and pain, was unmistakable. It was my mother.

I tried to call for help, but the words lodged in my throat, strangled by the terror that gripped me. I could do nothing but stare, helpless and horrified, as the realization washed over me.

Her eyes, glazed and unfocused, suddenly snapped to mine, and in that moment, they were filled with a haunting clarity. Her lips parted, and in a voice barely above a whisper, she uttered the words that would echo in my mind forever.

"It's all your fault, Hans."

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