Second day.

(when even the warning seems like noise)

"But what hasn't been kept quiet."

"It's never an accusation or a rationalization – it just gets there before the problem."

The next day, János came in.

It wasn't the accident that really hurt anymore, but the confusion that followed.

He started telling me.

How he was at the police station.

How he didn't get a deposit slip.

How it all happened.

He told me once.

Then again.

Then a third time.

Not because he was looking for an answer.

But because he wanted reassurance.

When it was said a third time, I just said:

"We should talk to Péter. He's a lawyer. He's an expert in accident and insurance cases. Let's just tell him what happened."

At this, János snapped:

"You're always rationalizing. You always think you're smart!"

I didn't raise my voice.

I just said:

– I'm sure you are. And there's no shame in asking for advice.

I didn't say that because of the accident.

But because of the memory.

Because it happened before.

Years ago.

On the same road.

With the same confidence.

Even then, he was sure that he was right.

Even then, it turned into a race.

Even then, it ended up with a barrier.

And even then, it turned out in retrospect that the truth isn't always enough.

Now, he wasn't racing.

Now, the other car "just" came.

From the right.

And the left rear wheel was the one that started the spin.

Again, the barrier.

Again, crushed.

That's why I said:

– It's better to be afraid than to be scared.

It wasn't reasoning.

But remembering.

János got upset, went home.

At home, he told Melinda that I had upset him.

He went for a walk.

Tension also needs a place to go.

Later he called me.

I told him the same thing: I didn't want to control him, I didn't want to tell him, I just wanted to warn him that there are people who see this better than us.

Because sometimes the problem isn't that they don't help.

It's that the voice of help gets mixed up with the noise.

And in those cases, people don't listen to it.

And yet it's not against him.

But for him.

It's easier to stay on the side of the road than in the other person's soul.

The light flashes there, the situation is clear there, you can see when to stop.

But when everyone has gone home, when there's no wreckage, no barriers, just a story that's being told over and over again — then it's harder to stay.

Because in those cases, attention can easily seem like reasoning, care like intervention, and experience like noise.

And yet the move was the same on both evenings: not to go on.

First on the road, later in the conversation.

And they may not always thank you for it.

But that's not why you stay.

But because you know: sometimes the greatest help is not what you accept — but what you don't keep silent about.