Emilia woke up and began moving restlessly. I tried to calm her, but my hands were trembling.
The judge watched me for several seconds before asking:
“Where are the child’s birth certificate and medical records?”
My lawyer placed another folder in front of him.
“The documents are authentic. Genetically, the baby is the biological daughter of Mrs. Mileva.”
“And who is the father?”
At that exact moment, the courtroom door opened.
Everyone turned.
The door opened with such a loud sound that Emilia startled in my arms.
She let out a sleepy whimper and curled her tiny fingers into the fabric of my cardigan.
I held her closer to my chest.
Everyone in the courtroom turned toward the entrance.
Silvia froze.
Mikhail slowly stood up from his chair.
And the judge, who until then had been studying the pile of medical documents with the patient, expressionless face that judges develop after years in courtrooms, raised his head.
