Prologue
The Year 2003
A sixteen-year-old boy sat in a meadow with his best friend and his twelve-year-old brother. It was summer. A beautiful, sunny afternoon had brought many people outdoors. Dogs played happily with children, while adults chatted among themselves, gossiping about most of the neighbors. No one saw anything wrong with it—it was simply part of their daily routine.
The three teenagers played cards, waiting for Jackson’s best friend from class, the one he had decided to introduce to the people who had been a constant part of his life since childhood. At first, he had hesitated—Martha and Will were well-behaved and didn’t enjoy wild antics, while David, on the other hand, was a daredevil for whom every minute without adrenaline felt wasted.
Jackson had no idea what would come of this meeting, but he hoped they would get along and that he could spend time with them all together, ensuring no one felt left out.
A faint smile appeared on his face when the wind scattered all the cards, and an indignant Martha—usually an oasis of calm—furrowed her brows, muttering under her breath that they should have played indoors.
The girl caught her friend watching her and directed all her frustration at him.
“It’s your fault. Why did you want to play outside when it was so windy?” she asked.
Jackson loved it when she got angry. She was incredibly charming like that.
“It was such a beautiful day. It would have been a shame to waste it indoors. We should enjoy every day while summer lasts. Autumn and winter will come soon, and we won’t be able to spend so much time outside,” he replied.
She nodded, though she didn’t look convinced. She gathered the cards from the grass with such care it was as if the order of the entire world depended on it. Jackson watched every movement—he knew her well enough to understand that this small irritation would soon pass, giving way to the quiet serenity she always exuded.
They had been together since childhood. They had grown up on the same streets, walked home from school along the same paths, and knew each other’s secrets, fears, and dreams. Jackson had always been the one a step closer—ready to offer a hand, shield her from the sun, or ward off prying eyes. Martha accepted it as natural, like a constant part of the landscape that one simply didn’t question.
“You’re impossible,” she muttered finally, raising her eyes to him. The anger had disappeared from her gaze, replaced by that familiar warmth.
He smiled wider, as if he had been waiting for exactly that.
Bored with the lingering silence, Will lay back on the grass, staring at the sky and shading his eyes with his hand. Jackson glanced at his watch. David was late—which did not surprise him. He had always been like that, arriving loudly and without warning, like a storm in the middle of a quiet day.
And exactly like that, it happened.
“Hey!” a loud voice rang out before anyone even noticed him.
David ran up from the path, a bag slung over his shoulder, hair tousled, a wide carefree smile on his face. He stopped abruptly, as if only then realizing Jackson wasn’t alone.
“You’re late,” Jackson said, standing up. There was no reproach in his voice, only a sense of accustomed expectation.
“As always,” David replied, and only then did he look at Martha.
The glance lasted only a moment, yet there was something different in it—surprise, curiosity, perhaps something more, something Jackson couldn’t yet name. Martha also stood, brushing her hands against her skirt, and smiled politely, as she always did when meeting someone new.
“This is Martha,” Jackson said, stepping almost instinctively closer to her. “And this is Will, my brother.”
“Nice to meet you,” she said softly.
David remained silent for a moment, then returned her smile. It was neither forced nor excessive. It was sincere, as if something in her had immediately disarmed him.
“David,” he introduced himself. “Nice to meet you.”
Jackson did not yet know that at that very moment, something had irreversibly changed. That a simple meeting in a meadow would become the beginning of a story that could not be stopped. He watched them both, unaware that a thread—thin, almost invisible—had formed between Martha and David, one that would eventually grow into a bond stronger than anything he had ever known.
For now, however, there was only summer, the wind, laughter, and the sun high above their heads. And the silence, which for the first time, no longer belonged to him alone.
