Three years.
To some people, it passes in the blink of an eye.
To others, it feels like a lifetime. Not quite enough to drive them mad, but every single day, every second, drags on like torture.
Jonathan belonged to the latter.
The guilt and self-reproach tore at him like sharp claws, especially whenever he looked into Agente's eyes.
He never dared to mention her in front of Agente. Because every single time, the boy would say it seriously, stubbornly:
"Mom's not dead. I'm going to find her. No matter what."
It was only after losing her that Jonathan truly understood what loss meant.
He didn't know how to make Agente accept such a cruel reality. So he chose silence, letting his six-year-old son use all the resources he could to look for traces of her.
Jonathan had searched too. But after hitting one dead end after another, he lost the courage to keep going.
