She was told her son was no longer alive, but a few days later she received a call from an unknown number

Her knees nearly buckled.

— Yes… speaking… who is this?

There was a pause. Then came the words that made her drop the phone:

— It’s me… it’s Alexandru… I’m alive.

She couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe. For a few moments, she just stared at the phone lying on the floor, until she snapped out of it and picked it up again with trembling hands.

— Alexandru?! Is this… is this really you?

The voice cracked with emotion:

— Yes, Mama. I don’t have much time. I don’t know how long the signal will last. I escaped. I’m hurt… but I’m alive.

Through a broken connection, he explained how their unit had been ambushed and scattered. He’d been injured and trapped under debris, unable to call for help. A few villagers from a nearby abandoned settlement had found him days later and hidden him, fearing military patrols in the area. Only now had he managed to find a phone.

— Don’t tell anyone yet… please. Just… just know I’m coming home.

The call ended abruptly.

Ana stood in the middle of her quiet house, hands still shaking, tears streaming down her face—but for the first time in days, they were tears of hope. She didn’t sleep that night. She sat by the window, staring into the darkness, waiting.

Three days later, at dawn, someone knocked gently at her door.

She opened it—and there he was.

Thinner. Pale. Limping. But alive.

And in that moment, as she collapsed into his arms, all the pain, all the doubt, all the grief vanished in a single heartbeat. Against all odds, against the world’s certainty… her boy had come home.