Mijn man en ik vonden altijd rust in water.
Elke avond, zodra de wereld stil werd en de dag zijn greep op ons verslapte, glipten we in ons zwembad in de achtertuin. Geen muziek. Geen gespetter. Alleen het zachte klotsen van water op de tegels en het zachte gemurmel van onze stemmen. Het was geen beweging of verwennerij – het was ons ritueel. Onze manier om elkaar eraan te herinneren dat we er nog steeds waren, nog steeds verbonden.
When the new family moved in next door, we waved, exchanged polite smiles, and went on with our lives. A few days later, the father knocked on our door. His tone was stiff, almost rehearsed.
“I need you to stop using the pool at night,” he said.
No apology. No explanation. Just a request that felt more like a demand.
We were confused. Our pool was quiet. We weren’t hosting parties or playing music. We nodded politely but didn’t agree. After all, this was our home, and our evenings were harmless. So we continued.
For a while, nothing happened.
Then one night, as we were standing by the pool, towels wrapped around our shoulders, I sensed movement near the fence. I turned and saw their son—maybe twelve years old—standing very still on the other side. He didn’t climb. He didn’t call out. He simply pressed a folded piece of paper against the wooden slats and waited.
Something about the way he stood—too careful, too serious—made my chest tighten.
I walked closer.
The paper was handwritten, the letters uneven, as if written slowly and with effort. As I read, my breath caught.
He explained that his younger sister had been sick for a long time. Hospitals. Treatments. Long nights filled with fear. The only place she ever felt calm was a therapy room where water gently echoed—soft, rhythmic, safe.
Voor haar betekende het geluid van water troost.
Maar de laatste tijd, laat op de avond, was het lawaai te veel geworden. Wat haar ooit geruststelde, overweldigde nu haar fragiele slaap. Ze was moe. Ze had pijn. En hij wist niet hoe hij anders om hulp moest vragen.
Ik liet het papier zakken en keek naar de jongen. Hij keek naar mijn gezicht, op zoek naar iets—misschien begrip. Genade.
Op dat moment viel het zwembad achter mij volledig stil.
