The sun was setting over the suburban New York landscape, casting a warm golden hue over our apartment. When I heard “Alex” my dad called out. I put the phone down and tried to get up, but my head spun and I quickly sat up. It wasn't the first time, so I ignored it, waited a few seconds, got up again and went downstairs.

In the living room sat my dad with a birthday cake, chocolate with cherries - my favorite, with 15 candles, after all, today, August 15, is my birthday. This year we were alone, my mom disappeared when I was three years old after the explosion of the building where she worked, but her body was never found, we never met her family, my dad's family is dead, and I didn't have time to make friends in New York because we moved just a month ago. 

“Happy Birthday,” he said and indicated a chair for me to sit down.

I sat at the table, fifteen candles stood tall, their flames dancing in the faint light. Dad, a kind man with a gentle smile, stood next to me, ready to capture the moment with his phone. 

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He always takes pictures at every important, or not, moment, and always says it's better to have too many pictures than too few. 

“Make a wish, Alex,” Dad said quietly, his voice full of warmth and encouragement.

I closed my eyes. I knew exactly what I wanted to wish for. It was the same wish I had said every year since I was three years old - for my mother's return. I took a deep breath and silently made my wish.

With determination, I blew out the candles, watching the smoke rise into the air and the room plunge into darkness. For a moment, everything was motionless. A sudden, violent explosion shook the house, throwing Alexander and his father to the floor.

The sound was deafening, and the force of the explosion shattered windows and sent shrapnel into the air. My heart pounded in my chest as I tried to comprehend what had just happened, but then came the darkness....