“She doesn’t remember anything,” I say calmly, keeping my eyes on my wife behind the hospital window. Agata holds our daughter tightly and gently strokes her hair.
“Exactly,” the father stresses harshly. “And nobody knows anything about them. Six years have passed: for everyone, your wife is dead. That’s it. You have a pregnant fiancée, Yegor. Her father will secure you a seat in parliament. You’ve always wanted that.
“And what do you want from me?!” I smirk, not hiding the bitterness.
“Leave them. Erase them. And live on. Build another family, climb the career ladder—let them be swallowed by the past. Want to—help with money,” he waves his hand irritably. “Fate gave you a second chance. Don’t miss it.”