The house felt heavy with unspoken tension. Yugh's family had resolved, with quiet determination, to confront the downward spiral that had overtaken him. For weeks, his grief and anger had driven him deeper into his bottles, leaving him unmoored, a shadow of the man he once was. 🍾
His mother, father, and brother worked together, patiently attempting to break through his defenses. They coaxed, argued, pleaded, and sometimes simply sat in silence beside him, hoping he would hear them, hoping he would choose life again. Nights were long, conversations often circular, but their commitment never wavered.
One morning, Yugh received a letter,a formal notice instructing him to return to the hospital the following week. The words were clinical, but the weight of responsibility pressed down upon him. For the first time, he realized that life outside his grief had not paused, that the world expected him to rise, to continue. 💬
Meanwhile, Yugh's mother wandered through the garden, tending the flower beds that Zahra had once cherished. Each blossom seemed to speak of the past, Zahra's laughter, her touch, the quiet elegance with which she moved among the roses. Yet instead of retreating into sorrow, she nurtured the flowers with care, letting the memory of her daughter-in-law guide her hands. Every petal she touched became a tribute, a reminder of love, loss, and the strength to endure.
In that delicate balance of remembrance and resilience, Yugh's family fought to reclaim him,not just for themselves, but for the hope that life, even after tragedy, could be reclaimed. 📖