“Someone help!” A pair of hands grabbed Joseph’s, desperately calling for assistance.

More and more people came running, trying to pull him back, but Joseph continued to struggle, still intent on jumping.

“My love is here, waiting for me. Cathe, my Cathe, I’m coming for you,” he mumbled, fighting harder to break free.

I wanted him to be saved—not out of pity, but out of disgust. The thought of dying in the same place as him made me sick.

Perhaps my wish was granted, for Joseph was pulled back onto the bridge.

But he wouldn’t stop muttering someone’s name, his erratic behavior convincing the onlookers that he was mentally unstable....