“So that’s what you’re like, Kirill Meteleyn!” “What do you mean?” He looks at me with the faintest smirk. “Rude, shameless, and never accountable for anything!” I blurt out. “You left the child however you could!” “I didn’t leave anyone. And I don’t have children. I’m seeing you for the first time.”
“You have a daughter. Here—look,” I push a photo almost under his nose. “You’re listed on the birth certificate. Just sign a refusal, and I’ll be able to adopt her.”
“Refusal?…” He studies me so intently that it’s as if cold runs over my skin, and I start to feel uneasy.