A Mom for My Ex's Little Daughter

“Albina Mikhailovna, we have a new girl,” the nanny says.

The door swings open, and a man enters the group. Tall, in a stylish overcoat, with a slight careless touch in his hairstyle—one she’s sure costs a fortune.

He holds a little girl by the hand—she has huge blue eyes and two braids.

I freeze.

It’s Mark.

My Mark. My professor, my first love, my greatest pain.

My ex.

“Hello,” the man says, and his voice—low, velvety—goes straight into my heart. “We have a new one. This is Eva. She’ll be coming to your group.”

I can barely force out something coherent.

“Hello, Mark. Hello, Eva. Very nice to meet you. I’m Albina, the teacher.”

My voice sounds squeaky and uncertain. I feel myself blush.

He looks at me. He recognizes me. In his eyes—there’s a mixture of surprise, guilt, and something else I can’t yet make out.

Why is he here? Why now, of all times?

And most importantly—why did he leave then, without saying a word?