It was the coldest conversation I had ever had.
And perhaps that was exactly why I survived it.
Ani was beside me.
Our son, Peter, came too.
He was thirty-five and lived in Varna. He had heard from his sister and came the same day.
When Georgi entered the hallway carrying a box, Peter was standing beside the window.
“Dad,” he said quietly. “Why?”
Georgi couldn’t answer.
Peter didn’t shout.
He didn’t hit him.
He simply shook his head.
“Mom loved you so much.”
Those words seemed to hurt Georgi more than anything I had said.
But I didn’t feel victorious.
Infidelity isn’t a victory for anyone.
It is destruction that remains behind even after the person who caused it walks away.
Milena
Months later, Milena called me.
I wasn’t expecting it.
Her voice was tense.
“Elena? This is Milena Dobreva.”
“I know.”
She took a breath.
“I don’t know if you want to speak to me.”
“I don’t.”
“I understand. But there’s something you should know.”
I didn’t want to listen.
But sometimes curiosity is simply another form of pain.
“What?”
“Georgi told me you had been separated for years. He said you lived like roommates. He said the children knew. He told me you were cold toward him and that there hadn’t really been a marriage between you for years.”
