The door opened with such a loud sound that Emilia startled in my arms.
She let out a sleepy whimper and curled her tiny fingers into the fabric of my cardigan.
I held her closer to my chest.
Everyone in the courtroom turned toward the entrance.
Silvia froze.
Mikhail slowly stood up from his chair.
And the judge, who until then had been studying the pile of medical documents with the patient, expressionless face that judges develop after years in courtrooms, raised his head.
A man stood in the doorway.
He was tall, thin, and silver-haired. He wore a dark suit that was slightly loose around the shoulders. In one hand he held an old leather briefcase, and in the other, a cane.
He looked at least eighty.
But when our eyes met, I didn’t see his age.
I saw the boy I had known more than fifty years ago.
“Todor,” I whispered.
My breath caught in my throat.
He took several slow steps into the room.
“Good morning, Elena,” he said.
His voice had changed with the years.
Deeper.
Quieter.
