My gaze flickered away from her face. Throat constricted, tickled at the upper palate. The masked man took a step towards me. Do not Cry. Don't look away. Do not Cry. And I clung to the point on her forehead where Indian women draw bindi.

Her smile was so radiant and sunny. I'm sorry, Yana, - she looks at me with wide eyes. They have warmth, maternal care. It was as if her mother's spirit had taken possession of her. Tears stop flowing. And she slightly raises the corners of her lips in a peaceful smile. We had one favorite restaurant. We went there several times as a family. Huge...