But I didn’t jump. I didn’t scream. I just watched.
Because I already understood: if I want to win, I have to think like a person who has nothing to lose.
And I… I didn’t have any anymore.
Chapter Seven
I came home late and Vera was there. She was sitting on the couch, looking at her phone, as if she had been doing nothing. When she saw me, her face tensed for a moment, then she smiled.
“Where were you?” he asked.
“I was looking for a job,” I replied.
Her lie was in her gaze, in the way she didn’t look me in the eye.
“I… I’ll make tea,” she said and stood up.
“Sit down,” I said quietly.
She turned around. Her smile faded.
– What’s up?
I took out my phone. I didn’t show any pictures. I didn’t say, “I saw you.” I just asked her:
– Since when?
Vera turned pale, then got angry, as if it was my fault.
– What are you talking about?
– About Kalin – I said calmly. – Since when?
The silence was like suffocation.
Vera bit her lip, then burst out:
– And what do you expect? To stand by and watch you sink? Without a job, without prospects, as if the world owes you!
Her words were knives, but the scariest thing was that she spoke so confidently, as if she had rehearsed.
“I’m sinking because I helped a child,” I said. “And you… chose to sleep with the man who dumped me.”
Vera laughed bitterly.
“It’s not Kalin’s fault that you’re soft,” he said. “At least he knows how to survive.”
“So this is it,” I whispered. “Survival.”
“Yes!” she shouted. “Survival! Not morality, not fairy tales. Life is for the strong.”
I stood up. I felt something inside me breaking, but also… clearing up.
“Go away,” I said.
Vera looked at me in disbelief.
– What?
“Go away,” I repeated. “Today. Now.”
“This is my home too!” he shouted.
“No,” I said. “This is the house I’m paying off the mortgage on. The house you lived in when you betrayed me. Go away.”
Vera fell silent. Her eyes grew cold.
“You’ll regret it,” he whispered. “Kalin will finish you off.”
“Maybe,” I said. “But at least you won’t finish me off.”
She grabbed her bag and left, slamming the door.
I was left alone.
And for the first time in a long time, I felt that this loneliness was not a punishment.
She was freedom.
Freedom to fight.
Freedom to choose a side.
Freedom not to sell myself.
I sat down at the table and opened the loan documents. I looked at the amounts, the dates, the interest rates. Every number was like chains.
Then I took a sheet of paper and started writing: what I have, what I owe, what I can do.
Sometime around midnight the phone rang. It was an unknown number.
“Nikola,” a male voice was heard. “I am Peter.”
“Who?” I asked.
“Vladimir’s son,” the voice said. “I want to meet. Alone. Without my father. Without lawyers.”
My heart skipped a beat.
“Why?” I asked.
“Because not everything is as it seems,” replied Peter. “And because Mila… is also my sister.”
I closed my eyes.
And I realized that there were more layers to this story that I hadn’t seen.
Chapter Eight
I met Peter the next day in a quiet place, away from the noise. It didn’t matter where, the important thing was that he didn’t want anyone to listen.
Peter was young, but not a boy. His eyes were smart and tired. His hands nervously turned his keys, as if that were the only thing holding him.
“Thank you for coming,” he said.
“I don’t know why I’m here,” I replied.
Peter swallowed.
“I study at university,” he began. “Law.”
My gaze fell on this. Law. Laws. Irony.
“My father… thinks the laws are a game,” Peter continued. “But I see how this game crushes people.”
“And you decided to become like him?” I asked.
Peter smiled bitterly.
– I decided to figure out how to stop it.
He leaned forward.
– Honey… she’s not just a child who’s poor. She’s evidence of a past that my father is trying to erase.
“Why should I take her?” I asked. “He says he wants to give her a home.”
Peter clenched his fists.
“Home?” he repeated. “He wants control. He wants to appear noble. He wants to shut up Paradise forever by taking the child and making him dependent.”
“Raya is sick,” I said.
Peter nodded.
– I know. And that’s why time is short.
He took a folder out of his backpack. Inside were copies of documents, printouts, notes.
“What is this?” I asked.
“Evidence,” Peter said. “Of something bigger than the child. Of something that would bring down my father if it came to light.”
I looked at the documents. I understood little, but I saw words like “loan,” “collateral,” “transfer,” “false statements.”
