“Son, remind me what you called your girl. The one with you more than four years ago. You introduced her to us as your fiancée along with your father.”
“Lena.” Even from a distance I feel a shiver in his voice.
“Do you know she’s raising your daughter alone?”
Anton answers almost inaudibly:
“Not mine…”
I feel my heart clench. I barely manage to say:
“H-How isn’t she yours? And whose then?”
No answer comes.
But it’s not needed anymore.
I’m watching from the gazebo as my husband looks around like a thief and leads Lena with the child away from the guests. The little girl in a princess dress screams:
“Dad!”
She reaches for him with her arms…