It was the beginning. The beginning of something that should never have existed, of an impossible escape, a forbidden alliance, a story no one would believe if I told it. But I’m telling it now because Matis Keller deserves to be remembered, because my son deserves to know, and because some truths must be spoken before time erases them forever. If you’re listening to this now, wherever you are in the world, know that this story really happened, and maybe, just maybe, you’ll understand why I kept this secret for 60 years.
For the first 48 hours, we didn’t speak. We just walked, Matis in front, me behind, stumbling through the deep snow, my feet wrapped in rags he’d torn from his own shirt because my shoes had fallen apart. He guided me through the forest without a map, without a compass, just instinct and fear. Sometimes he would stop, raise his hand to signal me to be quiet, listen to the sounds of the night, then continue. I didn’t ask questions; I didn’t yet understand what was happening. All I knew was that I was alive, that my baby was still moving inside me, and that this man had saved me for no apparent reason.
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