“And then?” Silvia asked quietly.
“Then we met at a café. We talked for three hours. Then four. Then all day.”
Todor smiled faintly.
“She still ordered coffee without sugar,” he said.
For a moment, I felt something warm.
Then I looked at my children.
And the warmth disappeared.
“We didn’t plan anything,” I said. “We didn’t plan to get married. We didn’t plan to have a child. We simply… found our way back to each other.”
“At seventy-nine?” Silvia whispered.
“At seventy-nine, I’m still alive, Silvia.”
She recoiled as if my words had struck her.
“I’m not saying you’re not alive.”
“Then why do you speak about me as if I’m a piece of furniture that needs to be put away when it gets too old?”
The judge didn’t interrupt me.
“You said the child is biologically yours,” he noted.
My lawyer stood.
“Yes, Your Honor. Mrs. Mileva and Mr. Stoyanov used a legally performed medical procedure abroad, involving an egg that Mrs. Mileva had preserved many years ago for personal reasons. The pregnancy was carried by a surrogate under a contract arranged according to the laws of that country. There is complete medical and legal documentation.”
The courtroom erupted in noise.
