“I’m fine,” I lie, covering my burning cheek. I close my coat more tightly—too light for early November—under which I’m only in a nightdress.
“Is that your child?” the policeman frowns and shifts his gaze from my documents to the back seat of the SUV where a five-year-old Luka sobs pitifully.
“Yes! That’s my son, Captain.”
I’m lying again—partly.
“I’ll contact your husband, Tatiana Romanovna.”
“No-oo,” terror grips me blindly.
“Don’t bother him. We’re not even five minutes away from divorce. I’ll give you a number. Please call this man. He has to help me.”
Three years ago, Rasul Hadzhaev left me without any explanation. The only sentence in a farewell note, sent with a luxurious bouquet, read: “I’m your debtor—call me if there are problems.” My pride would never allow me to deal with a traitor, but I ended up in such a situation that only behind his back I’ll feel safe…***One-volume book***Happy ending***Possible profanity.