— Timur, we need to talk. It’s about our daughter, — a woman’s voice comes through the phone. I look at my husband’s screen: some “Inessa” is calling.
— What other daughter? — I ask instead of him.
On the line—silence.
— You’re Anya, right?
The fact that she knows my name cuts straight to the bone.
— I had an affair with your husband, — says the stranger. — Sorry, you weren’t supposed to find out. Tell Timur— I’m getting worse, I’m in the hospital. Let him take our girl and take care of her.
I turn my gaze back to my husband and stare him down as I ask:
— You really have a daughter?..
Timur’s face changes and he runs his hand over his cheek.
— Yes.
I barely manage to exhale:
— And… how old is she?
— Anya… it just happened. She’s five.
I silently nod. Only we’ve been married for ten years already. How could something like this happen at all?