Time doesn’t heal all wounds, that’s just nonsense. You and I didn’t meet until we were 40. You were my late love. You were my friend, my lover, my child, my husband. You were a very happy, humorous man. You made me laugh so easily with your nonsense.
Until that day in May 2018. A normal Tuesday. Weekly market and visit to the hairdresser. Gorgeous early summer weather. Coffee on the balcony. You go to rehabilitation sports like every Tuesday. Come back around 8 p.m. as usual. You take off your sports shorts and sit on the sofa in panties and a T-shirt. Tell about your day.
Suddenly you clutch your chest.
“I can’t breathe out!”
You stand up, stagger.
Access to all STERN PLUS content and articles from the print magazine
ad-free
Already registered?
