Mikhail laughed bitterly.
“So you planned everything.”
“Yes,” Todor said. “Because contrary to what you think, we are not two confused old people. We are people who made a decision.”
He took an envelope from his briefcase.
“This is a letter I wrote for Emilia. There are also documents for a trust fund, education, healthcare, and guardianship. We haven’t left anything to chance.”
The judge took the documents.
Mikhail looked toward his lawyer.
His face was no longer angry.
It was calculating.
And then I realized he wasn’t finished.
“Who will be her guardian?” he asked.
Todor looked at me.
I answered:
“It’s written in the documents.”
The judge turned through the pages.
Then he raised his eyes.
“In the event of the death or incapacity of both parents, the child’s guardian will be Mrs. Nadezhda Stoyanova.”
Silvia gasped.
“Nadezhda? That woman from Ruse?”
“Yes,” Todor said. “My daughter from my first marriage.”
The room fell silent again.
“You have another daughter?” Silvia asked.
Todor nodded.
“Yes. She is fifty-two. She has two children. She knows Elena. She knows Emilia. And she has agreed to be part of her life.”
Mikhail went pale.
“So you don’t even trust us.”
It hurt to hear him say it.
But I couldn’t lie.
“You brought me to court, Mikhail.”
He opened his mouth.
Then closed it.
The judge leaned back.
“Based on the documents provided so far, I see no evidence that Mrs. Mileva is mentally incapable of making decisions. On the contrary, there are clear medical assessments, legal preparation, and financial arrangements concerning the child’s care.”
My children’s lawyer stood.
“Your Honor, we request an independent psychiatric evaluation.”
The judge nodded.
“That is your right. However, the request for temporary restriction of Mrs. Mileva’s parental rights and control over her property is denied at this stage.”
Silvia began to cry.
Mikhail didn’t move.
Todor simply closed his eyes.
I held Emilia closer.
It wasn’t a victory.
I didn’t feel like a winner.
I was a mother who had just discovered how far her own children could go when fear became mixed with greed.
And I was the mother of a baby who needed me more than ever.
The case continued for several more months.
There were evaluations.
Conversations with doctors.
Financial assessments.
Every week, someone checked whether I was reasonable enough, healthy enough, and capable enough to be a mother.
At first, it humiliated me.
Then I began to look at it differently.
I kept a diary.
I wrote down Emilia’s feeding times, medical appointments, vaccinations, conversations with her pediatrician, and our walks in the park. Not because I needed to prove my love to anyone.
But because I wanted to make sure no one could ever say that I had acted without thinking.
Todor came from Ruse every week.
Sometimes he stayed for several days.
He wasn’t a young father.
His back hurt. He tired easily. Sometimes he fell asleep in the armchair while Emilia lay on his chest.
But he looked at her as if the world were beginning again.
One day, I found him talking quietly to her.
“I was very late, little one,” he said. “But this time, I’m not going anywhere.”
I stood in the doorway and cried silently.
Because his words weren’t only for Emilia.
They were for me too.
