A woman gave the postman a letter with the same address every day, but never received a reply: the postman decided to find out what was going on here 😲😱
The postman was used to his morning route. Among all the addresses, there was always one that evoked a special feeling in him – the house of an elderly woman who lived alone in a small apartment on the first floor. Every day she met him with an envelope in her hands, carefully addressed with the same address. Always the same name of the recipient, the same city, the same street.
“Good morning,” she nodded to him.
“Good morning,” the postman replied, holding out his hand for the letter.
“He won’t get lost, right?” she asked every time.
“He won’t get lost,” he nodded, as usual.
One day, having overcome his hesitation, he asked why so many letters were coming in and not a single answer.
“Tell me, do you… receive answers from him?” he asked carefully.
The woman clutched the folded piece of paper to her chest, as if afraid he would take it away.
“No, they don’t come.” She lowered her eyes.
– Maybe he’s busy?
“Maybe,” she said, smiling sadly. “My son was always a good boy. He would have answered if he could.”
The postman felt something unpleasant inside. Every day – one letter. Every day – without an answer.
“Excuse me,” he exhaled, “but can I ask… why do you write so often?”
The woman took a deep breath.
– Because otherwise I will forget his voice. I will forget his laughter. In these letters I talk to him as before.
In the evening, unable to bear it any longer, the postman went to the address where he sent letters. And then he saw something scary and very unexpected 😢😢
It turned out that the person they were intended for died many years ago.
The next day he was standing at the old woman’s door again.
“Good morning,” she smiled, holding out a new letter.
“I went there,” he said, struggling to find the words. “I need to tell you the truth.”
The woman looked at him calmly.
“Your son… he died,” said the postman.
“I know,” she nodded quietly. “I’ve known for a long time.”
He was at a loss.
— Why… letters?
“Have you ever lost the person you loved most?” she asked so softly that he almost choked. “If I stop writing, then I’ll have to admit that he’s gone. And I’m not ready.”
He was silent. Then he said cautiously:
– I can come to you. I can listen if you want to tell me something.
The woman looked at him in surprise – and for the first time in a long time, she smiled truly.
– Thank you. You are a very kind person.
From then on, he no longer brought her letters. But he came to her every day – just to listen to her stories. And in these stories, the son still lived.
