He opened it.
Inside was a photograph from the hotel.
Not the first one.
The clearest one.
Georgi and Milena standing outside the entrance.
His hand around her waist.
Their faces close together.
For several seconds, he said nothing.
Then his face went pale.
“Where did you get this?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Were you following me?”
“Is that really the first thing you want to say?”
“Elena…”
“No. Look at everything.”
He turned the pages.
Hotel records.
Bank statements.
The loan.
Photographs.
Dates.
For a long time, he said nothing.
Finally, he whispered:
“It isn’t what you think.”
I almost laughed.
“Really? And what do I think?”
He rubbed his forehead.
“I was lonely.”
“I was right here.”
“It wasn’t the same.”
“Why?”
He finally looked at me.
And then he said the words that killed the last piece of love I still had for him.
“You changed.”
I stared at him.
“Yes,” I said. “I changed. I gave birth to two children. I cared for your parents when they were sick. I worked. I survived losses. I grew older. Just like you.”
“I never wanted to hurt you.”
“But you did.”
“Milena was a mistake.”
“One year was a mistake?”
