About five months before his death, Mara had managed to find him after a long search through family documents and information.
“The first time I called him, he didn’t believe me,” she said.
– Normal.
I wasn’t sure either. That’s why I checked.
A similarity or a story was not enough.
The documents and, later, genetic testing had confirmed their connection.
Iacob had a sister.
For the first time in decades, he had a blood relative again.
Then why didn’t he tell me? I asked.
That was the part that hurt me.
Even if Mara was his sister, why did she have to be a secret?
Mara lowered her gaze.
“Because when we found each other, he already knew that the disease had advanced greatly.
– And?
He wanted to tell you. A lot of times. But every time he said that you are just asleep, that you are pregnant, that you have debts and that he does not want to put another burden on your shoulders.
I collected the letter.
It wasn’t his decision.
– I know.
Mara looked at me straight.
“And I think before he died he understood that.
I kept reading.
“You’re probably angry that I didn’t tell you. You have the right to be. I have confused the desire to protect yourself with the right to decide what you can bear. I’m sorry.”
Tears began to fall on paper.
Below, the writing became more uncertain.
“But Mara is not the only thing I have hidden.”
I felt my chest tighten.
