Twelve years is a very long time to live without hearing from someone you love. For our family, those years felt even longer because we never knew what had happened to my older brother, Daniel. One day he simply disappeared from our lives, leaving behind questions that none of us could answer.
Daniel had always been adventurous. After finishing school, he talked often about leaving the village to search for better opportunities in the city. At first we supported his dream, believing he would eventually return with good news. But shortly after he left, communication stopped completely.
His phone stopped working, letters never arrived, and every attempt to locate him failed. At first we believed he was simply busy building a new life. But as months turned into years, our hope slowly faded.
My mother suffered the most.
Every time someone walked along the road toward our home, she would look up with hope in her eyes. She never stopped believing that one day Daniel would return. Even when relatives told her to accept that he might never come back, she refused to give up.
