He received no response.
That evening, Larisa entered for the first time in many years in the small workshop that Vasile also had at home, in an annex of the yard.
On a shelf were some unfinished items: a jewelry box, a baby chair and a sculpted bezel.
In a drawer he found an old notebook.
It wasn’t a diary. It was a register of measurements, sketches and calculations. There were also a few notes between the pages.
On one it said:
“Larisei likes that table in the store. Let me see if I can do a similar one by our anniversary.”
Another:
“Denis took the first prize in drawing. Let me buy him good pencils.”
Larisa turned the page.
He found a sketch of their house, carefully drawn. At the bottom, Vasile wrote years ago:
“Let him be old enough not to miss my family.”
The woman sat in a chair.
