The black sedan cut through the darkening city streets. Streetlamps flickered rhythmically, casting an amber glow over the asphalt dampened by the afternoon's rain. Aris, gripping the steering wheel, occasionally glanced over at his wife. Widya sat beside him still arrayed in her magnificent wedding gown, yet her gaze was hollow, fixed blankly on the receding streetlights trailing away behind them.

The car interior was deathly quiet, broken only by the soft hum of rubber tires rolling against the pavement. This should have been the dawn of a brand-new journey. They should have been discussing where to spend their honeymoon, or simply basking in the lingering euphoria of the wedding banquet that had just ended. Yet for Widya, every single meter the car advanced felt like an agonizing pull away from something of vital importance.

"Are you tired, sweetheart?" Aris broke the silence, his free hand gently rubbing the back of Widya's hand. "We'll be at the hotel in twenty minutes. You can rest right away."

Widya did not answer. Her heart hammered erratically. A strange, inexplicable sensation rippled through her body—an invisible yet overwhelming tug, as though a magnet were pulling her soul in the exact opposite direction.

She closed her eyes, and what surfaced in her memory wasn't Aris's face, but Bapak sitting in his wooden chair at the reception. That smile. A smile so calm, so pure, and so... final.

Bapak hadn't waved. Bapak hadn't cried. Bapak had simply smiled.

"Mas," Widya's voice was soft, barely a whisper.

"Yes, sweetheart?"

"Can we turn back?"

Aris slammed his foot on the brake by reflex, causing the vehicle to jerk slightly. He turned to Widya with a furrowed brow. "Turn back? What do you mean? We've left the reception venue quite far behind, Widya. You're exhausted; you need to rest."

Widya turned her head. Her eyes welled with tears—not from fatigue, but from a swelling panic suffocating her chest. "I don't know, Mas. I just... I have a terrible feeling. Something is wrong. My intuition tells me I have to go home. I need to see Bapak right now."

"Widya, you're just overly emotional because of a long, exhausting day," Aris tried to soothe her, his tone laced with patient understanding. "Bapak must be resting at home by now. He's probably happy that the reception went so smoothly."

"No, Mas. Please," Widya gripped Aris's sleeve, hot tears spilling over without permission. "I feel like Bapak is waiting for me. He won't sleep in peace if I don't go back. Please, Mas... turn the car around right now. I'm begging you."

Aris stared closely at his wife. He saw raw, unadulterated terror in Widya’s eyes. He knew she wasn't the impulsive type, and if Widya was pleading like this, it meant something profound was violently tearing at her heart. With a heavy sigh, Aris nodded.

"Alright. We're going home."

Aris executed a U-turn at the nearest intersection. The drive that had moments ago felt like a journey toward freedom now morphed into the most terrifying ride of their lives. The closer they drew to the house, the tighter Widya’s chest constricted. She felt the air inside the car grow thin and her pulse race faster, as though she were locked in a frantic race against time.

"Mas, step on it a little," Widya pleaded again.

Aris complied. The car surged forward, cleaving through the midnight dark. Their suburban home finally materialized as a faint silhouette in the distance. The front porch light, shining brightly from afar, looked like a beacon of hope; yet to Widya, it felt like the silent witness to something she refused to believe.

"Why is the house so dark?" Aris asked, a trace of doubt creeping into his voice.

Widya didn't answer. She could no longer think straight. Her mind was entirely consumed by her father's face. She remembered Bapak’s promise to always wait for her, remembering how he had consistently been the first person there whenever she needed him. And now, her instincts screamed that that very figure would no longer greet her at the front door.

The car came to a halt right outside the front gate. Widya didn't even wait for Aris to cut the engine; she flung the door open and sprinted out, her trailing wedding dress dragging across the damp asphalt.

"Widya! Wait!" Aris chased after her, his breath ragged.

Widya reached the porch. The front door was unlocked, pushed ajar just an inch. The silence greeting her inside wasn't an ordinary hush. It was a heavy, dead silence.

She stepped inside. The living room light was still on, casting a dim glow over the wooden chair in the corner—the exact same chair Bapak had used during the reception.

And there, Bapak was still seated.

"Bapak?" Widya’s voice was raspy, catching painfully in her throat.

Wahyu sat in the exact same posture, his head bowed ever so slightly, with that serene smile still etched across his face. He didn't move. He didn't turn his head. He didn't welcome her.

Widya approached with trembling steps. "Bapak... it's me, Widya. I'm home, Pak."

Her fingers brushed against her father’s cold shoulder. There was no response. No breath. No pulse of life. There was only a vessel that had finally shed the crushing weight of mortal existence.

Widya collapsed onto the cold wooden floor. She could no longer hold back the wail that had been trapped inside her chest all night. This was no longer a premonition. This was no longer anxiety. This was the raw, brutal reality shattering her entire world. Her father was gone. Bapak had truly gone home, leaving Widya right at the starting line of her brand-new life journey.

Aris, arriving breathless at the threshold, could only freeze in place, staring at the most heartbreaking scene imaginable. Deep in the dark of night, inside a house that now felt agonizingly empty, Widya wept bitterly in the embrace of her father's lifeless body—a choking road home that marked the definitive end of everything.