Mikhail left.
At the time, I thought he might never return.
But sometimes people need to reach the bottom of their own pride before they can see what they’ve lost.
A year later, on Emilia’s first birthday, he came.
He stood at the door holding a small cake.
“I didn’t know what to buy,” he said.
“A cake is a good start.”
He smiled awkwardly.
He came inside.
Emilia was already walking, holding onto the furniture. She saw him and laughed.
Mikhail stood completely still.
Then he crouched down.
She reached her arms toward him.
He picked her up.
And for the first time, I saw my son not as an angry man afraid of losing money.
But as a brother.
As a person who might finally have understood that love doesn’t become smaller when you share it.
Todor died when Emilia was three.
His heart simply gave out.
