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I searched for him my whole life.

Thirty years.

Three decades of hell, of aching silence, of hope that refused to die.

I remember that day as if it were stitched into my skin.

A moment of distraction at the market, the crowd, a scream.

I turned around—and he was gone.

Just emptiness.

Just my cry tearing the air apart like broken glass.

They told me to move on.

But how do you go on when someone rips your heart out?

I never stopped.

Never.

And then—

A message.

Unknown sender.

A few lines.

A photograph.

I stared at the face of a man in his late thirties.

And I forgot how to breathe.

The same birthmark under the left eye.

The same curve of his lips.

The eyes…

My eyes.

It was him.

The address led me to a small northern town.

I stood frozen in front of a café, my legs heavy as stone.

My heart thundered so violently it hurt.

Through the window, I saw him.

My son.

My hands were shaking as I stepped inside.

I sat quietly at a table in the corner.

He walked past me—

Didn’t see me.

Didn’t know me.

Then he approached.

“What would you like to order?”

I froze.

His voice.

His voice—and my soul shattered.

“Your name is Dejan, isn’t it?” I whispered.

He looked puzzled, smiled gently.

“Yes… how do you know?”

My eyes filled with tears.

“That’s what I used to call you… when you were little.”

I saw him pull back. A step away.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, “But… I don’t have a mother. I grew up in an orphanage. I was adopted. My parents died.”

“They didn’t.” My voice cracked.

“They took you from me.”

I’m your mother.”

He stared at me.

His eyes darted — then returned, searching my face. Searching for truth, for memory, for something buried deep in his mind.

I reached into my bag and pulled out a faded photograph.

A little boy, holding my hand.

My son.

“This is you… before they took you.”

He said nothing.

Just held the photo.

Looked at it — then at me.

His breathing changed.

I saw it—

The collapse of a world he thought he knew.

A lifetime unmade in a heartbeat.

And then…

His hand brushed mine.

An unconscious touch, but in that moment, everything shattered and everything healed.

Tears slid down his face.

“Mama…?” he whispered, testing a word that had never belonged to him.

I couldn’t hold back.

I pulled him to me, held him as if he might lost again.

Thirty years of grief, pain, and longing vanished in one embrace.

I found him.

And I will never let him go again.

Outside, on the pavement in front of the café, the shadows of the past faded.

A new story was being written—

One of a mother and son who, against all odds, found their way back to each other.

….

(Translated from SERBIAN by Jovana Stojadinović)

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