This is a story about "concealment".
He hid it from everyone. Hiding it from parents, hiding it from wife, hiding it from children. Hidden for more than ten years. He hid it so much that everyone thought he was fine, and he almost believed it himself. But he didn't believe it, because he knew better than anyone else - every day that was "okay" was earned by him in exchange for pain. I didn't write this story to make you cry. It is to let you know that there is a kind of person in this world who will swallow all the bitterness and leave only the sweetness to the people he loves. He doesn't exist. But I believe he exists.
The snow in Brussels fell in his eyes, and the white night in Helsinki lit up behind him. He stood there and looked at her for the rest of his life.
This is enough, and it is completely enough.
