After completing his prison sentence, Zsolti’s first stop was to visit his fiancée’s grave. But when he bent down to look, he was shocked beyond words by what he found!
Visiting hours end at eight!” an old, crackly voice called from the gate.
An unkempt, white-bearded man with sharp eyes stood there—he resembled Santa Claus, but without a sleigh.
“I hope I’m not too late,” Zsolti said.
“Are you the Keeper?” the man asked.
“Yes, son,” the old man replied.
“I’m searching for my fiancée’s grave. She’s buried here. Can you help me?”
Zsolti gave her name, Katalin, along with her birth and death dates.
The keeper agreed to check his records and sighed deeply as he began walking.
“Your fiancée, huh? Such a tragedy… she was so young, with her whole life ahead of her…”
His words struck Zsolti deeply, but he stayed silent and followed.
Katalin had been his world, and even after five years in prison, the pain was still raw.
Soon, the keeper located the grave and offered to lead Zsolti via a shortcut.
Zsolti accepted; he would have wandered alone for hours otherwise.
Despite his gentle demeanor, the keeper radiated authority — someone whose directions were never questioned.
A few minutes later, they reached the spot.
From a distance, Zsolti noticed something odd — the grave was neglected.
No fence, no flowers, and the cross was missing.
Katalin was the daughter of a wealthy banker — this didn’t look like her grave!
“Sir, this can’t be Katalin’s grave!” Zsolti said suspiciously.
“I’m sure,” the old man replied firmly.
“Here’s the cross image. Kolbina Katalin. Born September 21, died May 17.”
“Only 20 years old? Such a loss… What a beautiful girl,” the man sighed.
“She was 23,” Zsolti corrected quietly.
As they got closer…
WHAT ZSOLTI SAW CHANGED EVERYTHING.
Zsolti often dreamed of walking through a meadow filled with daisies with Katalin.
He held her hand tightly, but she would suddenly laugh, break free, and run away.
He chased her, but her image blurred in mist.
Then she disappeared.
He called for her but was met only by flowers.
He always woke up heart racing, fists clenched, teeth grinding, desperate to scream.
Yes, Katalin was gone.
That was his reality.
This dream haunted him through five years behind bars.
And worst of all, he was responsible for her absence.
The pain never healed.
He believed he deserved to be in prison — perhaps even a life sentence.
He should never have tasted freedom, never breathed the air Katalin couldn’t.
But his time was done.
When the prison gates opened, he stepped out.
Freedom — but what good was it?
He didn’t go home but wandered aimlessly, lost in thought.
His options were few — only his parents’ village awaited.
No one else cared for him.
He sat on a bench, eyes closed, recalling a time five years ago when life was different.
He had loved and was loved.
They met at a sports club where he was a coach.
One evening, a beautiful girl arrived uncertainly.
“Good evening,” she said shyly.
“I’m new and don’t know what to do.”
“Welcome! No worries. We’ll start with warm-ups,” Zsolti replied kindly.
“What’s your name?”
“Katalin. And you?”
“I’m Zsolti, your coach.”
That’s how it began.
Training, talks, laughter, long walks.
Soon, it became more than just attraction — it was love.
“Everything feels different with you,” Katalin said one night.
“My parents wouldn’t approve, but I don’t care.”
“It won’t be easy,” Zsolti sighed.
“Your dad’s a bank manager, your mom a chief physician. I’m just a village boy.”
“That’s why I love you. You’re real.”
Zsolti was happy, despite knowing her parents might never accept him.
Then the nightmare struck.
A stern man confronted Zsolti outside the locker room.
“Are you Zsolti? I’m László Szűcs, Katalin’s father. Stop seeing her.”
“We love each other,” Zsolti replied.
“Love isn’t enough. A year from now, you’ll be jobless. My daughter has a future.”
Katalin appeared.
“Dad, stop! You don’t decide who I love.”
“If you stay with him, I’ll disown you.”
“Then do it!” she yelled.
Katalin moved in with Zsolti into a small, rented apartment.
“It’s okay to have little money,” she said, laughing. “As long as I’m with you.”
Then one evening, she nervously shared news:
“Zsolti, I’m pregnant.”
He hugged her tightly.
“This is the best news I’ve ever had.”
But happiness was brief.
One day, Katalin disappeared.
Phone off.
A note on the door read: “Don’t look for me. I need protection. I don’t want them to hurt you.”
Two weeks later, Zsolti learned she’d died in an accident.
Officially, she lost control of her car — but Zsolti didn’t believe it.
Shortly after, drunk, he confronted Katalin’s father.
By night’s end, her father was hospitalized with a head injury, and Zsolti was arrested and sentenced to five years.
During those years, Zsolti wrote no letters.
To anyone.
He shut himself off inside and out.
Other prisoners said he was like a shadow — present but not alive.
Then freedom arrived.
But Zsolti just nodded silently and left — not home, but to the cemetery.
There was Katalin’s grave.
The stone was worn, but her name and dates clear.
“You were the light of my life,” it read.
He knelt and whispered softly:
“Hi, Kati… I’m back.”
But he knew it was too late.
He just wanted to say sorry.
Behind him, a cough.
An elderly woman stood with a scarf and tired eyes.
“Are you Zsolti?”
He jumped up.
“Yes. Who are you?”
“I’m Aunt Terike, Katalin’s old nanny. Before she died, she gave me something for you — a letter.”
“She said to only give it when you were out of prison.”
Her hands shook as she handed him a yellowed envelope.
Written on it: “If you ever get out…”
Zsolti’s hands trembled as he opened it.
The handwriting was unmistakably Katalin’s.
Reading the letter, he froze, then sat down as if struck.
“My dear Zsolti,
If you’re reading this, you’ve been through more than I could imagine.
I know you’re angry with me.
And I never fully explained why I left.
But please read on.
My father didn’t just threaten me.
He said he’d make you disappear.
He hired someone shady for it.
I knew he wasn’t bluffing.
And we had our baby.
I couldn’t risk it.
So I faked an accident and took on a new identity.
I lived in a small town — alone…
Well, not alone.
Zsolti, you have a son.
Kristóf. He’s four and a half.
He looks just like you — I cry when I see him.
I couldn’t write; I was scared that if they found out, they’d hurt you again.
Your arrest was the worst day of my life.
I saw it on the news.
My heart broke.
I knew it was my fault.
But now you’re free.
If there’s still love between us…
Come find us.
The address is on the back.
I love you and Kristóf is waiting.
He doesn’t know you yet, but when he sees you, he’ll know.
Katalin”
Zsolti sat silently, clutching the letter.
“So… she’s alive,” he whispered.
“She is,” Aunt Terike said softly.
“And the child, too. They’re waiting.”
A week later, Zsolti walked down a quiet street, holding a small stuffed bear.
He stopped at a white house with rose bushes and a swing.
Katalin appeared in the doorway.
She hadn’t changed much.
Her hair was longer, her eyes more tired — but when she saw him, she simply said:
“I knew you’d come.”
A small boy ran out.
“Mommy, who is this man?”
Zsolti knelt, tears in his eyes.
“Hi, Kristóf.
I’m your dad.”
The boy looked curious, not scared.
He stepped closer and touched Zsolti’s hand.
“Your hand is warm,” he said.
“Just like mine.”
Katalin watched, tears in her eyes.
In that moment, Zsolti knew:
No matter his past or mistakes, he had a new reason to live.
What was lost couldn’t be regained, but something new could grow.
And this new life was about love — not guilt.
The end.
