My Perfect Murder

— Anechka… my girl… I want to touch your hair. But my hand just hangs in the air. Beloved, flinching, steps aside.

— Who are you? — she looks hostile and wary. She presses her son to her chest. Our son—hers and mine! A frightened voice cuts through the nerves like a sickle.

As if I could harm her and our child.

— I am Bogdan… We’re with you… — I try to find the words.

— Forgive me… You’ve mistaken me, — she looks through me.