Chapter 4

—Dasha? Yegor's discouraged voice rang out from the driveway—Hi, what are you doing here?

Blinking several times, I try to drive away the obsession, but the image from the past does not disappear, but I really want to. It's kind of surreal, by God. What did he forget here?

Really...?

As if feeling, I look down and look at the gorgeous bouquet of white lilies in his hands.

Inga's favorite flowers - flash through my head and an unpleasant bitterness forms on my tongue.

My boyfriend from the past, the first love and the father of my daughter, is Kolesnikova's wonderful man? The one who is a friend?

Am I that sinful?

“H-hello,” I mutter excitedly, wringing my fingers and continuing to scan Tumanov. It seems that all this is a pestilence that is about to evaporate, one has only to lend a hand, but no. Here he stands, alive, as always in perfect shape and dressed to the nines. For almost six years, he has become wider, and his face has acquired more masculine features.

The silence drags on and even becomes somehow awkward, as if nothing binds us, although his daughter is sitting a few meters away. His little copy, with eyes the color of the sky, which I love more than life and which he does not even suggest. At this moment, Nyuta's joyful squeal is heard throughout the house, and, alarmed, I jump out into the entrance, slipping into rubber slippers on the go. If Tumanov finds out about his daughter, then definitely not in such an environment, especially if they have a relationship with Inga.

I don't want to spoil everything now.

After all, we haven’t seen her for two years, and Tumanov generally believes that I had an abortion.

I don't think anything will change if my secret stays under lock and key a little longer.

Under Yegor's surprised look, I gently close the door behind me. So much so that Anya did not decide to check who was visiting. At home, she was almost always the first to run to the door. I kept hoping that this was dad, who had gone on a long business trip and couldn’t come.

What else could I say? That her mother is an idiot and a liar? I had to improvise and get out of the situation as much as possible.

Having come up with nothing more original, I ask a stupidly banal question in order to somehow fill the silence in which the beating of my heart is clearly heard.

-How are you?

-Thanks, fine. How about you?

“I have too,” I answer timidly and, raising my head, intersect Tumanov’s serious face. — T... you must have come to Inge, right?

I don't want to ask about it, but to stand indefinitely is complete nonsense. Yegor is about to say something, but the door opens with a creak, pushing me forward a little and Inga's head appears.

-What are you jumping off? And where is the courier? Oh, Yegor, what are you doing here?

Having swum completely, Inga wraps up the floors of her silk emerald robe and awkwardly stares blankly. She had already washed off her make-up and twisted her brown hair into a messy bun.

“He brought you flowers,” raising his hand, Tumanov demonstrates a huge bouquet wrapped in kraft paper, and I understand that it’s time to leave. It was not enough to catch these two cooing or kissing. God forbid...

“Okay, I’m off,” I mutter in a hoarse voice and not allowing myself to even breathe in the direction of Tumanov, darting into the apartment and rushing to the bathroom. I urgently need to cool down, because every area of the skin burns painfully, as if I were roasted under the scorching sun.

Everything is long in the past, and the past, as they say, you need to be able to let go. And if not for the little golden-haired baby, not even a single nerve would have twitched in my soul. I'm sure. But it's much more complicated, and I have no idea what to do with it all.