– Not here.
— Elena…
– After dinner. In the staff meeting room.
Victoria finally intervened:
Alexander, it could be a manipulation.
He turned slowly towards her.
His look kept her quiet.
– A manipulation?
– I’m just saying…
He has my five-year-old.
– We don’t know yet…
– I know.
Victoria pali.
— Alexander…
He’s looking at Elena.
– I’ll come.
– To Eight.
Elena put the letter back.
He turned.
And she went after her son.
Alexander was left alone in the corridor.
The journey that was to bury his past had just opened the tomb in which truth had been buried for five years.
And the worst part was that his mother’s name had already been spoken.
At eight o’clock without two minutes, Alexander was already in front of the meeting room.
He hadn’t gone to dinner.
He didn’t drink anything.
Victoria had tried three times to talk to him, but each time she had received the same answer:
– Not now.
Elena goes in at eight fixtures.
She was alone.
Put the envelope on the table.
– Max is sleeping?
– She’s with Irina. He’s watching a movie.
Alexander pulled a chair.
Give me the letter.
Elena stood up.
“First you have to understand something. The day I left, I didn’t know I was pregnant.
When did you find out?
Two weeks after the divorce.
Alexander is clenching his jaw.
And you decided not to tell me?
I decided the exact opposite.
Push the envelope to him.
Alexander opened it.
Inside were two sheets.
The first was written by Elena.
The date hit him right away.
Almost five years ago.
“Alexandru,
I know you probably don’t want to see me again, but we need to talk. I am pregnant. The doctor says the pregnancy is about nine weeks old.
I don’t want money. I don’t want to get back together.
But the child is yours and you have the right to know.”
Alexander was stopping.
Lift the look.
I didn’t get that.
– I know.
– How?
Elena showed her the second sheet.
It was a much shorter letter.
The writing was familiar.
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