“If I ever met my father, I wouldn’t ask him why he left. I would ask him if he ever thought of me.”
Grigore closed the notebook.
And cry.
Alone.
For the first time in many years, not as a priest.
It’s like a father.
The relationship with Elena’s family did not repair overnight.
Grigore couldn’t simply forgive decades of lying.
But he didn’t spend the rest of his life looking for revenge.
Elena had died six years before Ana.
Her father had died a long time ago.
And the old woman who had helped keep secret lived with the consequences of her own choice.
The only person on whom Grigore could have an impact was Ilinca.
And that’s where it went slowly.
That’s very slow.
At first it was just “Father Gregory”.
Then the man who sometimes came with a book.
The one who knew how to fix wooden toys.
